Battlefield Gallia
by RedShocktrooper
Summary: Squad 7 fights in our World War II, under the command of Marshal Rommel. Follow them as they go from the Shores of Normandy to the bitter cold wastes of Russia, to the heat of North Africa, fighting under the banner of Hitler's Germany.
1. Formation

Battlefield Gallia: The Untold Story of the Second World War

Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyria Chronicles, nor do I own the characters in it. I also do not own the Wehrmacht, Luftwaffe, Kriegsmarine, Red Army, People's Navy, Red Air force, US Army, Army Air Corps, US Navy, the British Navy, British Army, Royal Air Force, Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Josef Stalin, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, Neville Chamberlain... you get the picture.

A/N: If you can't gather, this is basically the events of VC transposed into the events of the actual Second World War. Gallia's location sits somewhere in the Scandinavian area, a prime position for attack from Germany, the Imperials (not the Imperial Japanese, obviously), and the Soviets, the Imperial Alliance is located in east Europe, in conflict with the Soviet Union, and the Federation **are** the Western Allies.

June, 1935

Hitler sat across from the alleged leader of the Imperial Alliance. He seemed a bit young for the job, but the IA was located in such a manner as to buffer a Soviet attack. Not to mention, both Germany and the IA had set their sights on Gallia's vast Ragnite reserves, which would certainly aid the German war effort, though Hitler saw it mostly useful for exportation to Mussolini, who would use it to conquer North Africa.

"Maximilian," Adolf began, "I have taken a pact between the IA and Germany into consideration, though I will not act if it goes against the wishes of Mussolini."

The blond turned from Adolf to Benito.

The Italian nodded. "What is good for Germany," Mussolini said, "is good for Italy."

The three shook hands. The Axis had grew in power.

Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, and the East European Imperial Alliance had become like soldiers, who would fight alongside each other to the bitter end.

And these three soldiers had a target in common:

Gallia, to the north, though, by Hitler's advise, Maximilian determined the time was "not right," despite either nation outnumbering Gallian troops considerably.

-MEANWHILE, IN BRITIAN-

Neville was still quite happy with himself. He had brought, as he put it, "Peace for our time." But, what with Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy allying themselves with the IA, he knew this could not last. Three nations stood in adjacency, The IA to the east, Italy to the south, and Germany dead center.

"Gallia. They're going to attack Gallia. When, I do not know, but they are going to attack Gallia."

He decided that he would attempt to get Britain allied with Gallia, to deter any aggression towards it.

September, 1939

The time was right. The German and Imperial Armies had set themselves to strike small Gallia, in a lightning strike that would, if not completely conquer Gallia, would cripple it.

-MEANWHILE, JUST OUTSIDE THE GALLIAN TOWN OF BRUHL-

"Halt! In the name of the Leader, halt!" A German soldier yelled at a local girl, who wore what appeared to be a military uniform. He thought to himself, "What kind of army wears blue and red as a combat uniform?"

"Let her go, Hans. Our tanks will catch up with the Gallians soon enough."

The soldier lowered his rifle, and slung it back over his shoulder. He climbed back into the truck, and it resumed its drive.

The girl had returned to her squad, hidden in the underbrush from overflying German planes.

"They're coming. I heard something about tanks, as well."

------

"This road certainly hasn't changed much."

Welkin Gunther walked a bit aimlessly on the road, unknowingly headed for the advancing Germans. He spotted some fish in a nearby stream.

"Hey, guys, starting early, aren't you?"

He took out a sketchpad and drew a bit, refining details in a prior drawing.

_Click-Click_

"Hands in the air. Slowly."

_Clack-clack_

"How about you, miss?"

Welkin turned around. Behind him, a female soldier and GSR. Behind her, German Soldiers, MP38's, and Kar98k's.

"Lower your weapon, miss," said the one with the rifle

She failed to do so.

"I said, lower your weapon!"

"..."

_TWACK!_

The soldier with the Kar98k brought the butt of his rifle across her face, knocking her to the ground.

"When I say, 'lower your weapon,' you lower your damned weapon!"

The two with Submachine guns pulled her up to her feet.

"Who are you? Identify yourself!"

"Leave her alone!"

Welkin couldn't believe what had came out of his mouth. Normally, he would have just let the soldiers go about their business, out of fear.

"You got something to say concerning your girlfriend here?"

Welkin gave no response. Both he and the girl turned a shade of red.

"Figured," the soldier turned back to the girl, "Alright, miss, I recommend you talk. Who are you?"

"Alicia Melchiott, of the Bruhl town watch."

"Finally. I thought I'd have to take you to Division. Given what they did in Czechoslovakia, you wouldn't have liked that. Unless, of course, you're a masochist." The soldier turned to Welkin. "You may go."

Not wanting to pick a fight with a guy with a gun, Welkin walked away quite promptly, and rapidly. But, as he did so, he turned around. He had an odd feeling about this girl, and, indeed, that something quite different was supposed to happen. The German soldiers where pushing her along at gunpoint, her rifle slung over one of the rifleman's shoulder.

He turned away from her, presumably to never see her again, shrugging the odd feeling off.

Indeed, something quite different was supposed to happen on that day.

-------------

Well, that concludes Chapter 1. Don't forget to Comment and Criticize me. I like knowing what is wrong with my fics, so I can improve on that area. I'll try to get as many members of S7 in as possible, though not necessarily IN Squad 7. (SPOILER ALERT: Welkin gets conscripted. By who? If this proves good enough, You'll find out.)


	2. Roll Out

A/N: To the one (ONE) person who reviewed last chapter: I thank you, and your input is appreciated (However, Welkin didn't whack any German Soldiers with any Fencepost. A German knocked Alicia off her feet with his Karbiner, but no lumpy German heads... Not until North Africa, at least).

To the remainder of you: Give input! Tell me what needs fixing or clarification.

No Russians were harmed in the making of this chapter. Gallians? Yeah. Germans? Duh. Imperials? You Betcha. The Occasional Brit? Probably. But no Russians.

------September 15th, 1939------

"Lieutenant, Here's an empty tank!"

The Lieutenant looked into the Garage. Seemed that his small group, Mechanized Group 7 (_aside: fully intentional_), had stumbled cross what appeared to be an experimental Gallian tank.

"The Edelweiss... so the rumors were true. Is it in working order?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Not a drop of petrol in the tank, though."

"Use the petrol from my Armored Car. Using this will provide way more of an anti-armor punch than our Panzer II and that Czech tank. Get a crew into it, and the radio, too!"

"Yes, Lieutenant!" shouted one of the soldiers inspecting the tank.

The Lieutenant turned away from the Edelweiss, back to the soon-to-be-abandon Armored Car. He banged his hand against the armor.

"Get the Radio out of there. We found a new vehicle. Let's test it for the Gallians, shall we?"

The Lieutenant heard a sound from behind him, and quickly whipped around to see a flash of red and blue. He pointed for two submachine gunners and a rifleman to investigate.

The trio of soldiers went in the direction of the flash, guns at the ready. They turned a corner around a house, and were met with a familiar face.

"You _again_?"

She gave no response.

"Miss Melchiott, I'm starting to think you're picking on us. Come on, lets..."

They turned to lead Alicia back to the Lieutenant, but were met with about four more Gallians militia members.

"Son of a bit..." the Rifleman began. He was interrupted by gunfire.

-----

"Lieutenant, she still works!" One of the tank crewmen shouted down from the driver's hatch. "Get in, we'll see how smoothly she runs!"

A rapid succession of bangs was heard. They were all wrong for German-made weapons.

"Damn... Gallians! We'll see how well she fights, too!"

"Lieutenant, what will we do if we encounter friendly forces? They'll fire on us like the would the Gallians!"

"Get the flag out of the Czech tank, and put it on the antenna. That should be identifiable enough."

---Meanwhile, about a hundred meters away---

Alicia was fully aware that they were in earshot of German troops, made all the worse by speaking the same language. She could see a German machine gunner placing a belt of ammo into his gun from around the corner. From this distance, she could be _sniped_ by such a weapon.

The gunner opened fire, his MG34 making the commonly heard tat-tat-tat sound that Gallians had come to fear. The sound of the gunner brought the attention of a Panzer I, and she, nor any of her squad mates, had any anti-armor weapons. The best they could do was to chuck grenades at the small tank as it rolled towards them.

"Get your grenades ready..." she ordered. The five of them prepared to pull the fuse on the light explosives, and they could probably take the Panzer I out. It was the Panzer 38(t) and its 37mm gun that bothered her, along with the Panzer II's 20mm gun. Even if they were light tanks, they were tanks none the less.

The Panzer I rolled toward the Gallians. It came to the corner, the turret turned, and the driver shouted an old swear word we probably all know, pertaining to fecal matter. The tank's commander scrambled to get out of the tank, but the small vehicle was blown forty meters upwards by a pair of Gallian hand grenades before he could get off.

A quick sigh of relief, though it was quickly replaced with a scream of terror. The remaining Panzers were rolling up the road, as the 20 and 37mm guns fixated on the house Alicia's squad hid behind. Behind the Panzers, a large Gallian vehicle rolled out of a Garage.

A shocktrooper, with gray hair tied into two pigtails, pointed and said, "Look, one of our guys!"

Alicia turned and ran. Her squad saw too late, the blood red flag that flew on the tank's antenna. It's large antitank gun had fixed on them, as a HE round was fired from the tank's cannon.

The last sound they had made was a shriek of terror as the Edelweiss's cannon thundered. Alicia ran as fast as her legs could take her, dropping bits of her armor to run faster. The Panzers, and the Edelweiss, did not pursue, turning instead, back to the front lines. Instead, a Krubelwagen, laden with a five man squad of Riflemen and Submachine gunners, gave chase.

Alicia dove for a bush, hoping that the car would just pass her. Unfortunately for her, Blue and Red was easy to see amongst green foliage. They pulled over and surrounded the bush.

"Come out with your hands up!"

No response. A rifleman tossed a Stick grenade into the bush after giving a quick warning. It exploded, but no people pieces flew out. The soldiers found that the bush could be moved, revealing a trap door. They went down into the trap door, into the crude tunnels below. The five of them turned a corner and were meet by a Gallian woman with a strange smile on her face...

And a flamethrower in her hands. The Gallian found out that ignited Germans made a delightful sound as they burned, a mixture of screaming and shouting.

---Meanwhile, the Edelweiss, forty Kilometers up the road---

Lieutenant Hans Von Groebel found that the ride in the Edelweiss was surprisingly smooth. While he saw the Panzers II and 38(t) bouncing along with every bump and nick in the road, he road in comparative luxury in the Gallian tank.

"Lieutenant, can we _please_ stop and rest? We haven't gotten out of this wretched machine since we lost Junge."

"Alright. I was planning to let you guys take a break soon anyway, but I doubt Rommel would mind if we stopped early. Stop the engine."

The three tanks, and the following trucks pulled off the road, and stopped. The resulting scramble of men who probably figured they should have took a break ten kilometers ago dashed out of the vehicles, and to the nearest bush.

"Ok then." Hans said as he ducked back inside the tank. He knew quite well, long before the Internet, that what has been seen, cannot be unseen. But it can be forgotten.


	3. The End of the Beginning

Before anyone asks, no-one is getting nothing they wouldn't have developed. No Marmota working for the Heer. Any other experimental designs are fair game.

Also, heads up. Swearing in this chapter.

---Gallia, Friday, October 13th, 1939---

A bad, bad day.

Autumn was well set in, the angry gray of German armor clashing with the bright reds and oranges of the fall, as Blitzkrieg ground to a halt, in the aftermath of Britain's declaration of war, and subsequent reinforcement of the tired Gallian military.

Lieutenant Von Groebel looked out of the upper hatch his Panzer III. The Edelweiss had been sent back to Germany to be reverse engineered, which would certainly speed up tank research and development, but not before Von Groebel had personally given it a good field test, and expended most of the tank's ammunition. He wished R&D would go smoothly and quickly, as he wanted the tank – or some German made emulation thereof (a/n:*coughroyaltigercough*) – as soon as possible. It was the most well-crafted machine he had ever rode in.

---Four Kilometers up the road, in Randgriz---

Even with British Support under Montgomery, Damon was loosing. The Gallian general was a total failure, and Chamberlain himself had given a strict order not to follow any orders sent by him.

The constant wail of Stuka sirens, occasionally ending with an explosion, had not ended since German troops first set foot in Gallia. Bofors Anti-Aircraft guns did their best to deter the raids, and a recent shipment of British tanks had replaced all lost Gallian-built ones.

Damon still made one tactical blunder after another, and Randgriz had been cut off from any British reinforcements.

Just outside the General's tent, Gallian Militiamen and women were attempting to overcome a language barrier with the few remaining British troops.

"Now, look, miss," Started a British soldier, directed towards a Gallian scout, "We would just like to know were you keep your guns and ammo."

The Scout produced a confused look. "Sorry, what?" She said in the Gallian variant of German.

The British soldier rubbed his forehead. "Oi." He grabbed a pistol out of his jacket and pointed to it. "Where?"

She was somewhat getting it now. He wanted a gun. She pointed out into the field.

The Brit wasn't amused. "No, I want a _British_ gun, not one of those German pieces of _shit!_"

She just stared at him.

"Oi. Fine. I'll take a damned Fritz gun. 'Least I won't run outa ammo."

The British soldier walked over to a dead German soldier, and picked up his K98, and checked the body for ammunition. He was cut a bit short when he heard the Stukas stop. He, and all the other soldiers in the camp, looked up.

Alicia, with the remains of Squad 7, looked upwards, as well. They were cut off from the camp, having long since ditched Gallian and British weapons for German ones (and plentiful ammo that restocked itself). She had become the de-facto leader of the squad, the lieutenant having been picked off by a German sniper while leaning out of his tank before she could even memorize his name.

The sound of wailing dive bombers was replaced with the clank of treads and the stomp of many boots upon the streets of Randgriz. Alicia looked around a corner, and saw something terrifying.

The unmistakable silhouette of her old enemy, the 38(t), rolled up the road. It hadn't spotted her yet, but the tank's commander was making the foolish mistake of leaning out of his turret hatch for better visibility. She leveled her Iron sights at his center of mass, and fired. The Sargent, probably not much older than her, flopped over, falling out of the hatch and onto the engine compartment.

She quickly ducked away as the 38(t)'s turret turned to fire upon her. The corner where she had taken the shot was reduced to rubble like the rest of the town by a cannon round.

"Save our ammo!" Shouted the tank's loader. "We need to save up for the coming battle against the rest of the Gallian army! A few scouts or shock troopers won't hurt us."

"Tell that to Sarge."

"Good riddance on that idiot. I never liked him."

The tank continued rolling forward, turret returning to front and center.

"Besides, our _storm_ troopers will take care of any infantry."

---A short time later---

"Largo, Rosie, Homer." Alicia called quietly down an alleyway. A head appeared on the other end.

"All present and accounted for."

"Marina over there, Rosie?"

"She's on point, looking for any Krauts who get too nosy."

Alicia sighed. "Good."

"She came this way!" A voice shouted from behind her.

"Uh-oh, Alicia, sounds like you got friends."

Alicia dashed over to Rosie. They both ducked behind the wall.

Fourteen or so German soldiers, most holding the old MP18 from the first war, came from where Alicia had stood. They passed the walkway the two women hid in.

The two of them let out a sigh of relief.

"Ok, it's safe now." The two of them came out of the alley.

In the distance, they heard the sound of a door being broken down, followed by the 'kersh' of a stick grenade.

"Hey! They had a sniper! Told you it was a good idea!"

Something instantly shouted at the top of its lungs that Marina was no longer on point looking for targets.

"It's safe. Move the gear up."

One of the soldiers leaned around the corner, and whistled. About twenty men, with mixed weapons, walked past Alicia and Rosie. Rosie poked a nicked MP38 around the corner as the troops passed, and opened fire. Alicia followed suit with the stolen K98, as the mass of German soldiers took round after round in their backsides. The two of them had brought the Submachine gunners back, weapons ready.

"Damn," one of them said. "They got the radios. That alleyway, the fire had to have come from there. Come on, guys, let's go."

The fourteen of them shuffled single file down the narrow alleyway, looking for the soldiers that had deprived them of communications beyond themselves. They came to a small clearing, Rosie, Alicia, and Largo behind an MG34 that promptly opened fire, cutting down all of the submachine gunners.

The Clanking of treads. It was impossible for a tank to get through, but not for a tank to be carrying more SMG-toting German troops.

---German column, the other side of a wall---

Lieutenant Von Groebel had heard the sound of an MG34 firing. It was close... too close for comfort, and the accompanying screams of German troops signified that they had fallen into an ambush on the other side of an oddly intact brick wall.

Either that, or it was a bunch of particularly unlucky Gallians happening across a machine gunner.

He let himself believe the latter. He had more pressing matters to attend to, namely what looked to be Matilda II tanks up ahead. Much more threatening than any Gallian infantryman (Save a Lancer or anyone with a Boys).

The Panzer III rolled forward at the head of the division, and locked a Matilda II in its sights. A 37mm round shot out of the tank's gun, hitting the Matilda dead on. Von Groebel got lucky, the round had struck the Matilda's ammo supply, which subsequently exploded in a concussive blast.

"Good hit!" the Lieutenant shouted down to his gunner. "Keep pushing forward!"

The Panzer kept rolling toward the final bastion (to their knowledge) of Gallian resistance. They had strict orders not to kill as many Gallians as possible – they made great soldiers, if unorthodox, and the Fuhrer himself wanted Gallians in at least one branch of the Wehrmacht, even if it was just a handful of soldiers.

In fact, the entirety of the German Military had been ordered to simply take out Damon, the only one Hitler didn't want.

Bonus points for Montgomery, if he hadn't already been evacuated.

An order came out over the radio. "Grudarian to all German units. Halt the advance; Damon has surrendered. Prepare to take on prisoners."

"You heard the General. Halt the advance!"

Von Groebel peered out from atop his tank. He could see the Gallian troops placing their weapons on the ground, and even about five behind him, two men, three women.

Alicia looked over at one of the women, with black hair that obscured one of her eyes. She had assumed this one got killed by a stick grenade, but was still pleased to see that this assumption was wrong.

The two merely nodded to each other, as a German Submachine gunner came to lead them off into the back of a truck.

---

Well, that concludes Chapter 3 of Battlefield Gallia. I'm doing extensive research concerning weaponry, so I don't have too big of an anachronism, so I can avoid Germans using Leopard II tanks this early (if I decide to run the war for that long, Leopards are a possibility for 1950). You won't see MP40s until about, oh, say, France or North Africa (still debating with myself over whether to put the Sevens in the normal Army or the Waffen-SS, and how to mentally work in the various customizations they do to their uniforms into the drab gray or black uniforms used by the Heer and Waffen, respectively. Or maybe I'll just make them Paratroopers.) Already decided that General Senior Rifleman Damon is getting a demotion just to spite the idiot.

Leave a review with criticism, constructive preferably. This is how I know I'm getting noticed, and the last time I checked, only one person reviewed.


	4. Sitzkrieg

Chapter 4 is upon us, Eh? I'll move away from the combat, try something set in the "sitzkrieg" between the invasions of Poland and France. Also, one of my reviewers noted my historical accuracy concerning equipment – arms of WWII is a bit of a hobby, German weapons in particular, though how long I can go before the Edelweiss makes a dramatic effect on German tank design, namely the Maus, is a big question. I recall a particular German lieutenant sending it to Germany for studies and trials.

(Also, the bit with the Panzer I being blown skyward by a pair of grenades works off another fic, wherein aforementioned grenades blow down walls.)

--- December 24th, 1939 ---

There were rumors.

Rumors floating about the German Reich, about Europe, about the World, that the remaining Gallian military units that hadn't be wiped out by the Blitzkrieg, had been added to the ranks of the appropriate branch of the Wehrmacht. Gallian Army to the German Heer, Gallian Navy (what was left of it) to the Kriegsmarine.

But the Militia was left ambiguous, since they fought as well as any army, but it was akin to the Waffen-SS.

--- Munich, Germany ---

"What's it like, Sargent?"

Alicia looked up at the Rifleman who asked her. "What's what like?"

"What's it like to fight for someone else's fatherland?"

She didn't know how to respond. "I don't know," she said after a few moments of silence. "Probably the same as fighting for your own fatherland, just with a different flag."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

A few moments of silence.

"So... uh... how's life in the German Army to life in the Militia."

Alicia shrugged. "In some ways, it's exactly the same," she responded. "In others," she looked over at Von Groebel and her own lieutenant, a 'Welkin Gunther', heiling a superior officer, "it's different."

"Catch any flak about being 'not German' yet?"

She turned to look at the Rifleman. "No, why?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

The Rifleman turned to walk away.

"Rifleman, what's your name?"

"Adler," he quickly said in reply. "You?"

"Melchiott."

"Nice speaking with you, Sargent Melchiott." He gave a quick salute, and left.

"Oh, yeah!" he said to himself, mostly aloud, "I almost forgot! We're having a Christmas party of sorts, and they invited you."

"Thank you, Adler."

--- Meanwhile, Somewhere in Eastern Prussia ---

"An excellent machine! I'll take a thousand!" Hitler yelled.

"My leader, it's just tests. We're still Germanizing it!"

"Don't! The Gallians got it right, don't mess with it!"

Adolf Hitler and an adviser looked on at the captured Gallian tank, the 'Edelweiss', as it was known.

"My leader, logistics would be hell! It uses completely different munitions than the ones we use!"

"Then make its munitions! I don't want a single weld on this tank changed!"

The official looked at the crew testing the vehicle. They just looked back.

"We can't even make the gun an 8.8?"

"No! I want a thousand Edelweisses, just like this one!"

An awkward moment of silence.

"It is quite fortunate we didn't face this thing in the field," began Hitler, "it would have decimated our tank divisions in competent hands. Probably would have done more than that. Of course, we could also make a cut-corners version, with the 8.8cm gun, perhaps a Maybach engine"

"Entirely feasible," responded the Adviser, to which he quietly added, "and preferable."

. -. -.-. .... .- .--. - . .-. ....-

Sorry this is a bit short. This is merely an interim chapter to show that 1. Welkin wasn't Alicia's lieutenant who got sniped, and 2. The possibility of T34 or M26 vs Edelweiss may be improbable under normal circumstances (and also to hand wave a drop in historical accuracy. *coughtigercough*)

Be sure to leave any criticisms in reviews, too.

(RAGNITE POWERED BISMARK BATTLESHIP FTW!)

Did I just say that aloud?


	5. The Day after the party

_My Appreciation to DC20 for those reviews. I'll try to work on more plot, less stuff blowing up, since that was the Bread and Butter of the original VC. Also, some of the names, Von Groebel, Staub, etc, used by the Germans, come from an obscure Hungarian strategy game, "Codename: Panzers." I guess this could be thought of as a Panzers/VC crossover, though I could have just as easily called them "Bergmann" or "Strauss." Also gonna see how many "Hans"-s I can fit into this story_

--- Munich, Germany; December 25th, 1939 ---

Lieutenant Gunther held his head in hand. The events of the night prior had been... interesting, to say the least. While the party had started out being a bunch of Gallians, Germans, and at least one Austrian soldier chatting about various tidbits from politics to the weather. One of the Sargents from Group 'Von Groebel', a Sargent Staub, had raided a local bar, bringing home multiple bottles of wine, and it went downhill from there.

This was probably the worst hangover Welkin ever had. Worse than that one collage party, which he really _did not_ want to remind himself of, so he quickly buried it in more interesting subjects.

Like the fact that someone was knocking on the barracks door.

"Lieu'en't Gunzer! A Christhmiss prezent from 'Igh Comman!"

The voice rung of the still somewhat slurred voice of Hans von Groebel.

"Come on in, Hans. What could High Command send me for Christmas, anyway?"

"You'll 'aff ter ask 'er for 'urself, Velkin!" Hans said in response. "Send Riffleman Gunzer in!"

"But that's the men's barracks!"

"We're schtill 'ungover enough for it not to count, Staub. Juz do it. I von't tell ze cap'n if you dun't."

Both Welkin and Staub were fairly certain Hans had found what was left of the whiskey Rifleman Adler had brought to the party.

"Riffleman Gunzer? Who's that?"

"Ya orta know 'ur own sisser when sh's spoken off..." Hans said as he passed out in the snow, and began snoring.

Welkin started doing two things: Jumping in glee that his sister was there, and placing his hand on his face concerning his equal.

Staub, on the other hand, produced a "I-can't-believe-that-drunk's-my-CO" look, and said to Welkin:

"You sister is in the hanger. She's taken an interest in that Czech tank."

Bieber looked at the young girl's tinkering with an expression of uncertainty. On one hand, if what she said she was doing was what was going to happen, the Panzer 38(t) would run faster. If what she said was going to happen _wasn't_ what happened, he knew that everyone possibly up to Hitler himself would be coming down on the lowly repairman, and he really didn't want to catch anyone's wrath, let alone the Captain's.

"You sure Varrot will be O.K. with this, Rifleman Gunther?"

"Sure."

He wasn't any more reassured than if a British repairman was working on the tank. Possibly even less so, since this girl looked to be at sixteen at most.

"Senior Rifleman Bieber, what is she doing to that tank?" A voice came from behind him. Both Bieber and the girl looked up.

"I'm going to catch hell for this," Bieber said to himself.

"Get her out of that tank!" Staub shouted.

"No, Staub, it's fine. Back in Gallia she pulled something similar with a Matilda tank," Welkin said in defense of his sister.

"Never could figure out how you guys killed that thing..."

"You mean that last Matilda that got blown up by a round to the Ammunition stock?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Well..."

Staub was interrupted. The four of them heard the moans of a man, in a voice similar to that of Lieutenant Von Groebel.

"Hans is waking up. I'll go check on him, Welkin. You and your sister have some catching up to do."

Staub raced off towards the Men's Barracks. Bieber, wanting to see what had happened, rushed off in pursuit.

"It's been a while, Isara," Welkin said with a smile on his face, glad to know his sister hadn't dropped off the Earth or anything. In fact, the worst that had happened to her appeared to be the ever familiar smears of motor oil on her, and the German army uniform.

The two hugged. It had been a while, a good few months, since the scramble of multiple German divisions to get as many Gallian soldiers as possible, and as a result, the remnants of the Gallian military was scattered amongst the Army and Navy.

The two talked for a good few hours, the two siblings sharing their experiences with each other. Isara had apparently been under the command of Damon before a higher up German officer, field marshal von Kleist*, pulled her out from under him, placing her in battalion of Combat Engineers for a while, before her request for transfer to Group Gunther, under von Bock*, and she had also performed similar modifications to the ones on the Matilda and the 38(t) on the Panzer III of Colonel von Luck*, and a trio of his Panzer IIs.

Welkin digested the story. She had certainly been more active than he had, the uninteresting life of the commanding officer of "Group Gunther", and friend of Hans von Groebel, leader of the creatively named "Group von Groebel".

Of course, Sitzkrieg tended to do that. Even if Germany was still at war with Britain and France, neither side seemed to be making aggressive motions against the other. Welkin figured that this was for the better, he'd rather be bored (or hungover) than dead.

Ok. So maybe he'd rather be dead then hungover.

. -. -.. / -.-. .... .- .--. - . .-. / .....

*For those keeping count, Isara's been commanded by one general, two field marshals, a colonel and a lieutenant. Of those, the field marshals and the colonel (von Kleist, von Bock, and von Luck) existed in real life. I actually have von Luck's memoirs.

_Also, this was a particularly productive weekend. I covered two days in two days, as opposed to skipping weeks. I swear, if Chapter 6 isn't the invasion of France, I'll go mad. Alicia got the day off, something about a ball gag and her blouse smelling weird... (sorry, couldn't resist.)_

_(Might do something with Adler and Bieber.)_


	6. France

_France, Finally! Viele danken those of you who have left comments. There will be much more chatting than in prior scenes of battle, as Group Gunther fights former comrades in the British Army._

_And I'm breaking the "One Steve Limit", which means no two characters can have the same first name. Welkin would like another player for "Count the Hans-es"_

_The I'm bending it on itself, with a character with a similar name to a prior one._

---German-France border, 0600 hours, May 10th, 1940---

"Bieber, how's that 38(t) going?"

The Repairman looked up from the welding, to look quizzically towards one of the Lieutenants. The voice indicated it was Welkin.

"Fine and dandy. Just strapped some more armor onto it, and your little sister's been quite busy over on the Groebel tanks, trying to negate the extra weight of the armor package."

"'Armor Package?'"

"Yeah. I placed some spare armor from some old towed guns we nicked from you guys on the tanks as an anti-antitank rifle measure. Last thing I want is for one of you guys to get picked off by some Tommy with a rifle, albeit a heavy one. The bulk added a couple of tons to the vehicle's weight, slowing it, so Rifleman Gunther is working to make the tank's engine more powerful, to make up for it."

Welkin just smiled. He hadn't really understood what Bieber had just said, but the Austrian didn't seem to mind, as he went back to welding armor plates over the treads. The lieutenant couldn't help but notice the gun on the 38(t) was different. He laughed to himself; somewhere in Germany, an artillery division was out a PaK 38. He left Bieber alone, as the Austrian whistled what von Groebel had identified as _the Florentiner_, an "Austrian Army march written by a Czechoslovakian about a city in Italy," if he remembered correctly.

Welkin hoped that Isara would be more likely to use Layman's Terms than Hans Bieber.

He stopped for a moment, to count the "Hanses" he knew. Hans Bieber, the repairman of Group von Groebel, von Groebel _himself_, also thought Staub was a Hans, and the Group Gunther mascot, Hans, a porcavian. Atop _that_, the Colonel their orders came from was Hans von Luck.

Welkin decided he would keep a tally of how many people named Hans he could meet before whatever caused the war to end happened. That would be one way to keep himself from getting too bored. Hopefully, he would get over one-hundred "Hanses"

"Whatever happened to the One Hans Limit?" Welkin said to himself, laughing.

It never occurred to him that half of Group Gunther, and the entirety of Group von Groebel, was watching him, and the nearby Group Werner was listening in.

Adler came up behind Welkin. "Lieutenant Gunther; You're in the wrong branch," Adler began, patting Welkin on the back, "You should be in the Air Force."

"Hmm... I might consider... Adler, what's your full name?" Welkin asked.

"Fritz Adler, sir. Why?"

"No reason. Just curious." Welkin then questioned why Adler said he should have been in the Air force. He shrugged, and continued to his sister.

He wouldn't make it, as Captain Varrot, tailed by Colonel Von Luck, quickly found him.

"We're just received orders from High Command," Varrot began. "We move out immediately."

Welkin stared at the two officers, dumbfounded.

"Move out, Lieutenant Gunther!" shouted Von Luck from behind her.

---Meanwhile, in France---

The British army was on constant standby. This, of course, did not bode well with the guys _actually_ on standby.

Edward Nelson, a Bren Gunner, scratched his head under his helmet, which he affectionately called his "soup bowl."

He looked over at one of his comrades. "I don't think Fritz is ever gonna fight. In fact, I think this war is a hoax," he said to his comrade.

His comrade, a Private, said in response, "You know, Eddie, I think you're right. I mean, why _would_ Fritz want to invade France? What does France have?"

"A particularly large detachment of the British Army, that's what!" a second private said.

Eddie got up, and used his Bren gun's sights to scratch an itch between his shoulder blades.

"Corporal Nelson?" said a third private. "Fritz is gonna make you eat your words."

"Really now? How do you know?" Eddie said, getting ready to slug this Private.

"Because he just _did!_" aforementioned Private shouted, pointing towards Germany. A particularly large dust cloud was forming in the distance, the sunrise casting them into an odd light that blinded Nelson. He pulled out his Bren's bipod, and placed it on a fortified wall, also stuffing a clip into the gun, having not counted on Germany actually invading France.

Bieber worked the 50mm gun on the modified 38(t).

"Lieutenant Von Groebel?" He said over the radio. "Do you think you could have, oh, I don't know, given me a bit of a heads up?"

"No, primarily because High Command didn't give Von Luck a heads up, so Von Luck didn't give Varrot a heads up, so Varrot didn't give me a heads up. Got it? Good. All units, Fire!"

Bieber hated how blunt his CO could be in combat, often not waiting for a response, but followed Von Groebel's command anyway.

It was about as mixed up in Group Gunther as well. Truth be told, Bieber had gotten lost and moved out with Gunther, and Isara with Von Groebel, though, with _both_ in 38(t)'s, neither group really knew the difference.

Welkin, in his Panzer III command vehicle, wasn't expecting any member of his group to fire upon the fortifications of the Maginot line, and he had, indeed, given orders to leave them to Group Von Groebel.

"Isara, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean? I'm following your every move!"

"Welkin, is that _my_ 38(t) following you?"

Welkin looked towards the 38(t) that was, allegedly, following him. Bulky appearance, Long cannon, lagging behind a bit...

"Oops. Hans, want Bieber back?"

"Not right now. Tommy's got Matildas rolling up behind the Line, you'll need his 50. We got enough AT guns to take them out, dunno about you."

"Bieber, save your munitions. We need you to..."

Bieber's tank erupted into flames, taking a Matilda's round to the turret.

"Damn it, Tommy! That was my only PaK 38!" the Austrian's voice barked over the radio. "Gunther, I'm out. Sorry I couldn't be of any help."

"Good hit, good hit! That'll stop Fritz for sure!"

Edward was looking down the sights of his Bren gun, observing a now-smoking German tank. The Matilda tank behind him had scored a terrific hit on Fritz's tank, knocking it clean out of action.

The Bren gunner could make out some infantry just behind the tank. At about five-hundred meters, the gun would be moderately accurate, enough to keep those infantry behind the knocked out tank. He opened up on 'Fritz', as the figures ducked behind the tank.

"Eat it, Fritz!" Edward yelled over his Bren. The rattling of the gun drown his voice out, making the taunt completely worthless. He had noted that one Fritz had gotten stuck in the open, so he moved his gun over a couple of millimeters, to fire on him. A few rounds later, the Fritz lay motionless.

Which obviously meant one less Fritz trying to kill British soldiers, which meant that Edward was doing his job. He turned his sights back to the knocked out tank, and saw a sniper trying to line up a shot.

"Oh, no you don't," he said as his Bren began rattling again. The sniper ducked back behind the tank.

Marina figured herself lucky. She'd narrowly escaped a Stick Grenade's blast, had, on multiple occasions, been nearly gibbed by artillery fire, not in any particular order, and had just almost been made into hamburger by a British machine gun. She could think of many men and women who hadn't been so lucky, and she wasn't intent upon joining them.

She could have taken the shot at the British gunner, but decided to wait until his clip ran out, which was sooner than she'd expected. She lined up a shot at his position, and only saw the top bit off the helmet, which ducked down behind the concrete wall as though the gunner had felt her scope lined up at him. Probably wasn't a fatal shot anyway, since it would have just glanced off. She looked for another target, an AT Rifleman lining up a shot at a Panzer II.

A loud bang, and the Boys rifle fell back on to the stock, and the rifleman, deprived of the top of his head, collapsed behind the wall he used for cover. She knew that she'd probably just pissed some German sniper off, but it was one of those things that didn't really bother her. She worked the bolt on the rifle, your ever common K98 with a scope on it, and looked for a new target.

---Group von Groebel---

Lieutenant von Groebel looked in the direction of the smoking tank of Bieber, but he'd seen the crew get out and dash for cover. Not any more comforting, since Group Gunther now lacked any sort of anti-Matilda measures with the destruction of the PaK 38 on Bieber's tank.

He had enough of his head exposed to look around without getting eyestrain from the periscopes. Which meant that he had enough exposed to shoot at, as his hat could suddenly attest to.

The Prussian ducked back inside the Panzer III, pulling the hatch down behind him. The tank's gunner already had a Matilda in his sights, firing a deafening shot at the British machine. Predictably, it struck the turret. Unpredictably, it glanced right off. The gunner looked down the sights again, to see what happened. That turret looked oddly angular for a Matilda.

"Load another round!" von Groebel commanded. Obligingly, the loader stuffed a new 5.0cm round into the gun. _If only we had Bieber's High Velocity gun, _the Lieutenant thought to himself.

Luck had run out for the Lieutenant, as the modified Matilda turned a strangely large looking gun towards the Panzer III. Von Groebel quickly opened the hatch on the tank, diving on to the ground below. His command tank exploded into hundreds of fragments, in such a manner that suggested a howitzer variant of Matilda.

He looked through his binoculars around his neck. The gun wasn't the 4.0cm gun normally mounted in Matilda tanks, as the regular Matildas around the variant could attest to.

The gun traversed to line up one of Welkin's tanks, on closer inspection, the remains of Welkin's command tank, another Panzer III.

"Come on, Gunther. Bail. Bail!" Hans muttered to himself. A loud explosion, but Welkin's tank was intact. Von Groebel looked at where the Matilda was, and let out a sigh of relief.

The tank was a smoking, the turret blown clean off, and the engine presumably crippled.

Von Groebel had observed the greatest miracle in the German army. Artillery hit what it was pointed at.

He had to find a radio.

"Damn you, Fritz!"

Edward was quite vocally dismayed with the German army, to say the least. The Numerically inferior Fritzes had pushed back the majority of the British army deployed in the area, and the Bren gunner hadn't seen a single Stuka.

_So, Fritz. This is how the fight begins. _Edward thought. _Alrighty, Fritz. Bring it, I'll give it right back._

---Deiser ist die ende von Teil 6. Sie sollt eine Bewertung abhängen für mich.---

_I know there is a large gap between Christmas day and May 10th, and the invasion was abrupt, but I greatly doubt Group Gunther would have expected to be even _in_ the invasion of France (seeing them in Russia or Sea Lion would have left too long of a hiatus._

_Also seems Edy got a replacement. I mean, I called him **Ed**_**ward**_** Nelson!** It doesn't get any more blatant then that! I must only be creative for German names, or something._

_Anyway, you can probably tell that, with my made up Matilda variant, which I lack a good name for (Assault Matilda?), Historical accuracy is wearing away. Of course, Germans captured the Edelweiss, it was going to happen. Nothing prevented "Tommy" from making off with some Gallian tanks, eh?_

_As aways, as I noted in my second language, leave a Review. I don't measure how good my work is by it, but it is aways nice to know what people think of it, and how grating my actual lack of knowledge is._

_I write battle scenes for fun, for the love of humanity!_


	7. A Windmill and Matildas

_A.K.A. France, Part II._

_Trying to make the German characters (Von Groebel, Staub, Adler, Bieber, etc.) varied. For instance, von Groebel's a Prussian, Adler and Bieber are Austrians, and Staub... well..._

---France, Early June, 1940---

For a 'roaring blitzkrieg,' it was calm, minus the clanking of treads and the low-pitched grumble of engines.

But, if one could look past that, France was a nice place to visit, and, climate wise, not unlike Gallia and Germany. The majority of Group Gunther was, indeed, looking past the drab gray that made up the uniforms of the Reich's army, and the paint on the tanks. Some had even chosen to walk instead of ride in the halftracks, so they could actually enjoy the countryside.

Alicia was conversing with Staub concerning the point of the war. Neither of them could actually tell _why_ the war had been started in the first place, but Alicia somewhat hoped Staub, being from Frankfurt, would know something.

"Staub," she said, looking up to meet eyes with the German Sargent, who stood a full head taller than her, "do you even know why Germany invaded Gallia?"

The German shrugged. "Some piss weak excuse about Living room, subhumans, and Ragnite," Staub replied. "Frankly, you'd probably be better off asking a member of your own group. You'd get a better answer."

Alicia turned her head to look at the country around them. Even if they were the invading "Fritz," that meant nothing about actually enjoying the sights.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Alicia turned back to Staub, to see if he meant the countryside or the advancing column. He seemed to mean France as a whole, seeing as how he was staring off in all directions that didn't have a German column in them. She wasn't even sure his question was directed at her.

The Frankfurter was just standing there, looking past the road, out into the hills, and a distant windmill. Even in France, she was still reminded of...

A flash of light from the windmill, followed by shortly Staub's cry of pain. Multiple consecutive flashes came from the mill's direction, accompanied by distinct thuds of 25-pounder guns.

Instinctively, she dived for cover in a small trench on the side of the road. An artillery round, probably a 25-pdr, exploded about were Staub was. About or not, Staub was scattered across the countryside they had been admiring moments before.

No time for that now. Tommy had come for a fight.

---The Windmill---

Private Smith could be considered one of the best shots in the British army in France. He had an inherent ability to hit the helmet strap of a German soldier from more than, say, 1500 meters out. Kilometer and a half.

He quietly swore to himself about the horrible shot he'd just took. He estimated the German Sargent to be about 980 meters out, and he'd aimed for the center of mass. He'd struck the German in the gut. He probably would have lived, if it weren't for an oddly well-placed artillery round from one of the Matilda tanks firing around him.

Oh well. He'd done worse. He thought back to the Maginot line, where he sniped a officer's cap clean off the officer's head. Smith worked the bolt on his Lee-Enfield, and lined up another shot. Another Sargent, female. Probably one of the Gallians that got conscripted into the Heer. Brown hair, two pigtails, red bandanna... perfect shot. He couldn't miss this one...

"OI! SMITH!"

The round flew right through the middle of the bandanna, leaving a clean hole straight through. Smith looked down at the idiot who distracted him.

"Dammit, Nelson! What do you want?" Smith shouted down at aforementioned idiot.

"Leave some Fritzes for me, OK?" the Idiot shouted back.

"Not my fault you're a Bren gunner, not a rifleman," Smith yelled to Nelson, mentally adding _And thank God almighty for that._

How could Smith even _hear_ the loud-mouth corporal over the pounding of the Assault Matildas?

---The Road---

That did it. Nearly getting sniped did it. Individuality be damned, Alicia wanted protection. She unclipped the helmet from her waist, and plopped it atop the (now ruined) bandanna she'd worn since she-didn't-know-when.

It obscured her identity nicely, but at the moment, personal appearance took a back seat to being alive to even _have_ a personal appearance.

She cursed German Army doctrine. As a Sargent, she'd been issued a MP38, which was useless at this range. She couldn't even _see_ the Brit who'd just tried to plant one of those .303 rounds in her head.

She'd used the Enfield for a short stint back in Gallia, before using up the ammo and having to steal a K98. She remembered picking off a good number of German soldiers with the Enfield, though she ran out of ammunition sooner than she'd hoped. Much more accurate than the older rifles used by the Gallian army.

She sighed, deciding to leave the Brit to a sniper. The least she could do was spot for a tank or something.

---A small ways down the road---

Tommy was getting sloppy.

Marina watched the British sniper fire at what were technically her comrades.

Technically.

Marina didn't care much for the Germans, perhaps stemming from a personal vendetta she had against one of the snipers in the Wehrmacht, who managed to out shoot her back in Gallia.

Who, of course, wasn't present at the moment.

Her sights had lined up on a British soldier, a rifleman trying to pick off Wehrmacht troops.

The scoped K98 she used kicked, and the Brit fell, a hole forming below his helmet.

Marina cycled another round, and set her sights on the British sniper...

---Windmill---

...Who had an odd feeling he was being watched by someone who wasn't British.

Smith looked down at the rifleman who had just been taken out by a Fritz sniper. Up the column. He quickly scanned the road for any K98s that didn't fit the normal profile. He found one, in the hands of a female sniper – probably another Gallian. Black hair, short, obscuring an eye, purple eyes, common K98 with a scope. And the reflection of his spot on the windmill.

---Road---

Marina noted the British sniper had seen her, for what little it was worth. She studied his face.

It seemed oddly familiar. Of course, it couldn't possibly...

---Windmill---

...be her.

Oh, how he _hated_ her. Smith was certain the feeling was mutual.

"Wulfstan." He lined his scope up.

---Road---

"Smith." She prepared to shoot.

A large explosion engulfed a portion of the windmill. Marina watched as Smith's look of determination was replaced with one of panic, as the mill began to collapse upon the two Assault Matildas in front of it.

Marina sighed. She felt it incredibly anti-climatic.

---Lead tank, Group von Groebel---

Von Groebel stroked his chin. Perhaps he could get to like 75mm.

Bieber would hate him for using it instead of the High-V 50mm gun on the Austrian's 38(t). Von Groebel could be sure of that. Then again, it really boiled down to which one was lieutenant and which was rifleman.

And which gun was more apt at Matilda hunting. To which Bieber would probably attest that von Groebel cheated.

Oh well.

The Panzer IV had entered service ahead of schedule. The lieutenant figured the Edelweiss had something to do with it, since the tank had an odd glowing coming from the vents on the sides of the engine compartment.

Wasn't ragnite supposed to be getting harder to find?

Von Groebel didn't worry himself on it too much. He didn't know the first thing about ragnite, and, truth be told, he preferred petrol-based gasoline. Must be the smell of of the engine fumes that told him "You're in a tank, Hans."

Von Groebel worked a kink out of his neck, then shouted down to his new radio operator.

"Get Gunther on the line."

"Yes, sir, lieutenant!" the young Corporal shouted back up. "Groebel to Gunther. Come in Gunther."

"Loud and clear, Groebel." Welkin's voice calmly said over the radio.

"Here you are, Lieutenant." the Corporal said as he handed the radio to von Groebel.

"Thank you, corporal. Lieutenant Gunther, how are things on your end of the convoy?"

"Fine, although you probably didn't need to destroy the windmill."

"Well, given the choice between taking two Assault Matildas in however many shots it'd take to kill them, and just killing them and any other Tommys caught under there in one, I think the choice is obvious."

Welkin was about to tell von Groebel about trying not to destroy civilian structures, when Marina swiped the radio from his hands.

"You know who killed Smith?"

On the other end, Lieutenant von Groebel was suddenly quite confused.

"Sorry, who is this?"

"Senior Rifleman Wulfstan."

"Ah... Wulfstan... this 'Smith' fellow doesn't ring a bell. Who is he?"

"A sniper."

"Name sounds British. Then again..."

"Who killed him?"

Welkin intervened, taking the radio back. "That's enough. Wulfstan, as you were."

"Any non-British casualties?"

"A few. Mostly from Group Werner. Save for one. Sargent Staub."

The Prussian on the other end gave no response for a short while.

"Staub... of all the places he'd fall, I never thought he'd die in France."

"Hans, you going to report it, or do you want me to?"

"I... I'll report it. Damn it, Tommy."

---A few hours later---

Smith rubbed his head. He had the worst headache he'd ever had.

No. Scratch that.

Worst headache _anyone on God's green earth_ had ever had, and ever would have.

"Oi! Smith!"

Of all the people to die...

"I thought you were dead, Smith!"

Why couldn't Nelson be one of them? Smith could feel his headache getting worse.

"Quite the dent." Nelson pointed out a dent in the helmet.

"Remind me..."

"Remind you to what?"

"Remind me, as soon as we get back to British lines, to _wring your neck out like an old wash-rag!_"

The two walked for a while. Nelson, unsurprisingly to Smith, began talking again.

"So... Smith? What's your first name?"

_Of all things he had the audacity to ask..._

"Thomas."

"I'm Edward."

"Alright, 'Edward,' let's make a deal. You don't talk to me, I don't kill you and make it look like Gerry did it."

Edward promptly fell silent, and backed way from the sniper.

---End Chapter 7---

_Well, this one took me a little while. I debated with myself for a short bit over whether or not to introduce Smith, and to, perhaps, have a bit of a rivalry between him and Marina (who I did **not** kill back in Randgriz, which is officially this timeline's Warsaw, Poland._

_Leave a review. I don't judge popularity by the reviews (I judge it by the "traffic" tab in the accounts), I judge what is so terribly **screwed up** that I really, really need to correct it. So, please leave a review for the sake of things making as much sense as possible!_


	8. Squad Adler

_Heads up: There's some non-anti-Darscen discrimination this chapter._

_And, before anyone asks, No, I am not an anti-Semite._

_Also, Mr. Wang's OC, Peter Rothchild, is going to be making an appearance here. I feel the need to introduce him, rather than just plonk him down in the middle of the invasion of (censored due to spoilers) and say "LOL! HERE IS PETER! LOL!"_

--- Dunkirk, France, June 5, 1940 ---

It's over.

The burning remains of multiple transport ships, carrying thousands of British troops in the largest military evacuation attempt in history, and also the greatest ever failed, littered the harbor after Luftwaffe attacks.

Welkin and von Groebel looked upon the lieutenant who had called in those air strikes.

He seemed so happy with himself, the blood of thousands on his hands by proxy, having killed many so-called "subhumans."

Neither of the first lieutenants held second lieutenant Klaus Werner in high regards that day forward.

Werner's jubilation stopped as he observed the remainder of the division sulking, which confused the wannabe SS Officer. He considered himself something of a hero, having, in his mind, done the Fatherland such a great service.

"Oh, come on, guys!" Werner yelled to his superiors. "Lighten up! They were just a bunch of Tommies waiting to get killed!"

Welkin was about to speak, but Hans beat him. "Werner," began the Prussian, "Yes, they were British. But they were defenseless!"

"Don't tell you would have just let them live, Groebel!" Werner replied. "They were asking for it! They _deserved _it!"

"How so? What did they ever do?" Hans questioned. "What makes them so deserving for death?"

"They weren't Germans!"

Welkin could see Hans was about to break Klaus's nose. In fact, he was quite surprised that the Prussian _didn't_ hit the Hamburger.

"Oh, so what about the Gallians in the division? What about them?" Hans' voice grew louder.

"To the camps with them!"

"They're as German as you are! If you believe in the so-called 'Master Race', you..."

"Shut up, Jew."

Hans fell silent for a short while.

"What did you call me?"

Werner offered no response, instead walking away from the alleged "Jew."

"Well, fine then! Good riddance!" Hans shouted towards the Hamburger.

Welkin was a bit awed. He'd never seen von Groebel like that. "What happened there?" was the only words that formed when he opened his mouth.

"You know how people mostly pick on the Darscens for having dark blue or purple hair?"

"Yeah..."

"It's like that in full speed reverse. Werner thinks that being a blond-haired, blue-eyed German makes him better than everyone else. I wouldn't be surprised if he harbored anti-Darscen sentiments along with the anti-Semitic ones."

The two lieutenants sat on the fender of the Group von Groebel command tank, a Panzer IV. Hans spotted something in the makeshift encampment. Werner was apparently berating the two unfortunate Gallians in his group that he was basically trying to get killed since the invasion started (since, obviously, he couldn't have tried back in Munich.)

--- Beside Werner's command car ---

"... and furthermore, you Gallian scum are making monkeys out of my men! Especially you, Rothchild!"

The blond-haired German extended his right index finger right into Peter Rothchild's face.

Both he, and another Gallian, Susie Evans, had been taking the brunt of Werner's wrath, given he wasn't able to take it out against the actual source of it, the two Lieutenants sitting on the Panzer down the road a short way. They were also getting closer, along with a particular Captain.

"Sir, I..."

"Don't 'Sir, I' me, Rothchild. I..."

"That's enough, Werner," a female voice said from behind the blond.

"No, it's not. It's never enough." Werner said in reply, ignoring whose voice it was.

"I said enough!" Werner was forcefully turned around by a nearby soldier. He was quickly silenced by the fact that the voice came from Captain Varrot, the only Gallian who could really scare Werner.

"You know... You're right! It _is_ enough!" Werner started, going straight into 'suck-up' mode.

One could quickly tell that it wasn't working. A scowl had appeared on Varrot's face, and Werner's own had been since replaced by an "Oh, _shit!_" look.

"Yes, ma'am." Werner said, giving a quick salute to his commanding officer (space did not afford for the 'heil' he normally performed for his COs). The Hamburger turned white, he didn't like seeing the Captain angry, in particular at _him_.

Hans and Welkin quickly burst into laughter as Klaus Werner went from Villain of the Moment to Joke of the Week. The officer made a beeline for the men's bathroom, wherein he was 'safe' from Varrot.

Too bad he hadn't read the signs. Varrot dashed in right after Werner, who made the sudden realization that he was in the women's bathroom.

Hilarity ensued.

----------

A short while later, Varrot emerged from the bathroom, Werner in tow. He was holding a red towel to his nose.

Given how they used white towels, there was only one implication; Varrot had done something to Werner's nose. Welkin had long since walked off, but Hans had stuck around to see what happened.

"Oh, no! Look! The superman got his nose broke by a Gallian!" Hans said tauntingly towards the blond.

Werner mumbled something; Hans was somewhat thankful he couldn't understand it.

--- June 10th, 1940 ---

"Congratulations on the Promotion, Adler!"

It had taken a while since Staub's death back at the Windmill, but Adler now bore the mark of a German army Sargent.

"Strange, I feel like I have a giant bull's-eye on my head. I also kinda wanted to a Corporal first... But, on the other hand..."

Fritz chuckled lightly with the soldier from group Werner. It seemed that, indeed, only Werner himself held the 'Master Race' mentality.

In fact, this guy was actually pretty nice.

"So, were are you from?"

"Bruhl. You?"

_Ah. That explains it. _"Vienna. Hey, what was it like in Bruhl? You guys had Oktoberfest, right?"

He gave no response.

"Don't tell me you don't know what Oktoberfest is!"

"No, I don't think we had Oktoberfest. What is it?"

"Oh, man, you guys are missing out," Adler began. Peter buttoned down for a story, "Ok, so what Oktoberfest is, is it's this big celebration of the harvest in October, and we have this big festival. Hence the name, Oktoberfest. There is food, dancing, beer, and generally, girls. It makes for a great combination. I'm actually kinda surprised, given how easy going Gallians are supposed to be, at least in comparison to, well..." Adler pointed at Werner, who was sulkily reading 'Mein Kampf,' "guys like him."

Rothchild chuckled lightly, as did Adler.

"Speaking of guys like him, how'd you get stuck in Group Werner, anyway?"

"Well, Adler..."

"We aren't in combat. Call me 'Fritz.'"

"Well, ok then, Fritz, I actually came because I heard some other members of the former Bruhl town watch were in Group Gunther over there, but, just my luck, no slots open. So I tried to transfer to von Groebel. All full. So I try Werner, and coincidentally, Susie's there too."

"Susie... Rifleman Evans?"

"Yeah, her. How'd you know her?"

"Word of mouth that she spent most of the first assault on the Maginot sitting in a Hanomag. Not that I blame her, I mean, Tommy and those Frenchies put up a good fight. Out of curiosity, how do you know her?" Adler asked, taking a swig out of his canteen.

"She was in the Bruhl town watch."

Adler spit the contents of his mouth across the ground. "_What? _You're bullshiting me."

"Nope; She was in the Bruhl town watch, and then the Militia."

"Huh... well, why'd she spend the first assault on the Maginot in a halftrack, then?"

"She's a pacifist, and doesn't like killing people. _Really_ doesn't like..."

Adler burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"A pacifist soldier! I've seen everything!"

"Why's that funny?"

"The irony! Oh, god, the irony!" Adler contained himself. "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard, but really, how do you know her?"

"I just told you! The town watch, the Militia..."

"Ok, ok. I get it. I don't get _how_, but I get it."

Rothchild looked at Adler. Seemed simple enough to him, so what wasn't there for Adler to get.

"Oh, I had something else aside from the Oktoberfest thing I wanted to ask you... What was it?" Adler began. "Yeah, that was it!"

"What was it?"

"Given the lack of two rifleman in my squad, I need some spare hands, I.E. you and Evans. How'd you like a transfer?"

Peter thought for a second; It was a fairly obvious choice. Either stay under the bastard Werner, or go under von Groebel, which seemed to work as a tight-nit group with Gunther, Peter's old CO, and probably run into some old friends.

Plus, if Fritz as a Sargent was anything like Fritz as just another soldier, it seemed as though life wouldn't be too rough. Peter nodded, and said that he'd join the squad under Sgt. Adler, though he wasn't sure about Susie.

"Ok! Oh, before I go off and ask Susie, what the heck am I going to call you when Tommy isn't shooting at us? 'Rothchild' just seems way too formal."

"Call me Peter."

"Alright, Peter, I'll be seeing you. Nice hat, by the way. You'll actually be able to wear it in Group von Groebel, hint-hint," the Austrian Sargent said as he moved away, presumably to look for Susie.

"Thanks!"

Adler seemed like a nice enough person. Peter decided that, if more of the German army was like that Austrian in particular, he'd see it in a much more positive light.

---End Chapter 8---

_Before anyone asks, I did get permission to use Peter._

_Be sure to leave a review. I've stated why many times over; I don't think I need to anymore._

_And Here's what is basically going on, nationality wise for the Germans, since I think I may have confused more than one of you (even if you aren't very vocal about it):_

_Hans von Groebel: Prussian (eastern bits of Germany. One could also see von Groebel as being West-Gallian, potentially making him of the same nationality as most of Group Gunther)_

_Fritz Adler: Vienna, Austria_

_Hans Bieber: Austria_

_The late Hans Staub: German, Frankfurter_

_Klaus Werner: Hamburg, Germany (Hence me referring to him as the "Hamburger")_

_I was also going to have a one-shot Czechoslovakian named "Laromil Kopecky", but that would have been pushing it. Gallia strikes me as a Germanic country. For the curious, he was the other casualty in Adler's squad._


	9. Staging Area

_Thanks to those of you who have left reviews._

_Also, go back and re-read all of Adler's lines with a Bronx accent. No, really. It adds an accidental new dimension to him, and in fact, to any of the characters, to give them an accent._

---Berlin, Germany, July 30th, 1940---

The original plan, an entirely German seaborne invasion of the British Isles from the south, had been modified at the request of Prince Maximilian, despite Hitler (quite vocally) demanding that only Wehrmacht units participate. Still, with the threat of withdrawing from the Axis powers, Imperial Army and Navy forces would take part in the invasion.

Hitler looked upon the general sent to aid German conquest of Britain. One of them held Hitler's interest, but he was still upset about the invasion not being all-German.

"I hope you realize, for the duration of Sea Lion, you will take your orders from German High Command. You will have no contact with the Imperial military aside from the units you bring with you, who will be equipped with German-made weapons."

"Humpf," an Imperial general said. "So be it. I will crush them even with inferior German equipment."

"France and Gallia would beg to differ, Brigadier," Hitler said, turning his back to the Imperial general who said the comment, "Imperial made weapons couldn't stand up to their British counterparts, remember? It was the German tanks and the German guns that won there."

A strange blue glow filled the room.

"Contain yourself, Brigadier." Hitler turned back to face the Imperial general, who seemed to be engulfed in a blue flame. "I do not insult you, nor your abilities; in fact, I am actually honored to have those abilities under my command. Whether or not my Field Marshals agree is a completely different story." Hitler contained his actual opinion on the joint force within his head; mentally adding, _I don't really, I just need a buffer against the Soviets, should they attack, and the I.A. fits the bill quite nicely._

The Austrian madman studied the general. Despite looking quite young, her hair was white, as though it had been bleached. A pair of red eyes acted as the centerpiece of her face. Hitler swore that if such a woman was a bit older, he might have dated her in school at some point.

"I know you probably think quite lowly for understating the part you played, General Eles, but, unfortunately, it was, indeed, the German Military's efforts that won in Gallia. We ran many scenarios through our able generals of your forces versus those of Damon, British support not withstanding. Utter defeat. We added an air force fighter wing, two armored divisions, and three mechanized infantry divisions from the Wehrmacht, and Damon was crushed. An entire German force, consisting of about half of the Army's, Air force's, and less than a quarter of the Navy's strength, stomped Damon flat," Hitler stomped the ground, "like an ant."

Selvaria's look changed from one of total resentment to one of despair. If what Hitler said was true, and just an imperial force was sent to Gallia, then they would have failed?

No. Impossible; Damon wouldn't have been able to fend off a Valkyria. Selvaria didn't dwell on it; she had more pressing matter to attend to, namely Hitler passing her the orders for 'Sea Lion.'

"Here are your orders, Eles. You'll be in Army Group 'East', under von Bock. A good few groups of former Gallian..."

"You put them in the army?" Selvaria spoke suddenly, interrupting Hitler's orders.

"Yes; Just like with the Austrian Military," Hitler continued, skipping the Gallian units, "As I was saying, You'll command your own Imperial troops alongside the German troops of Group 'East'. Your overall objective is the capture of London. You have until September 3rd to make your preparations. You had better be prepared by then, General Eles."

---Northern France, July 31st, 1940---

Sargent Adler stood in civilian clothing, watching as the remainder of Groups von Groebel and Gunther played on the beach. The sole reason he wasn't down there, was because he had acquired a liking for French wines since the invasion began; Possibly stemming from his prior like of wines back in Austria, though he normally could never afford to buy any. He used to save little bits of pay he got from doing odd jobs here and there, and occasionally bought a bottle. Those same odd jobs had made him proficient in Northern German (which was more difficult than he'd thought), French, and a little bit of Czech and Russian.

He also went looking for a glass of wine in civilian clothing, since he was under orders from von Luck not to play conqueror.

Not that he would have, anyway. He liked France, far more than he liked Germany, possibly even Austria.

He found a nice looking log, and plopped himself upon it. He looked out to his comrades, tossing volleyballs and building sand castles; He almost thought that none of them had ever even seen a beach in their life.

Fritz found himself focusing his gaze upon one of the Sargents; he remembered her from Munich, and sighed a bit. The Sargent, Sargent Melchiott, had captured Fritz's mind when it wasn't distracted by anything else.

"You should talk to her, Fritz," a voice said from behind him. Fritz turned to the voice who had said this, and was somewhat unsurprised to see it came from Peter.

"Talk to who?" He said in reply.

"Alicia, or as you keep putting it, 'Sargent Melchiott.'"

The two of them chuckled a bit.

"Why should I? She seems so infatuated with lieutenant Gunther, a 'dirty Austrian' would have no chance."

"What, and you're a 'Dirty Austrian?'"

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not! What's the difference, but a life of work to one of pleasure?"

"That's one way of looking at it, Fritz. Perhaps that latter one would have made you a so-called 'gentleman,' but you wouldn't be Fritz Adler."

The two laughed at a joke not made by either one. They fell quite after a few seconds of laughter. Fritz spoke again:

"Perhaps you're right; I should go talk to Sarg... Erm, Alicia." The Austrian moved to get up and talk to the Gallian below, but was interrupted.

"Sargent Adler! Senior Rifleman Rothchild!" a familiar voice said; the two of them turned to see Colonel Hans von Luck.

"That'd be us, sir!" Adler and Rothchild said in unison, snapping into a salute.

"At ease. Were are the rest of your groups, aside from group Werner?"

"Down there, Colonel, sir. May I ask why, sir?" Adler asked.

"We have the marching order. Get back to camp and into uniform. Dismissed."

Adler and Rothchild left von Luck to his business, going straight to the camp. The Colonel walked down the slope.

"Lieutenant von Groebel! Lieutenant Gunther!"

The two lieutenants dropped what they were doing, as did the rest of their groups.

"High Comma... what is going on here?" von Luck interrupted himself, looking around at the fact that the women of both groups had barely any clothing at at all. "Are you doing something I should know about?"

Lieutenant von Groebel spoke. "Sir, we were just enjoying ourselves on the beach, sir!"

"I have a hard time believing that was it, lieutenant, but I have more pressing matters for you. I have received orders from High Command that all of you will be trading a beach in France for a boat that will take you to Britain."

A voice from the back said, "What, is Tommy giving up so soon?" The group identified it as Ted's voice.

"No, unfortunately the British are not giving up," von Luck continued. "Quite the opposite, actually. Tommy's decided he won't go down without a fight, so you can probably guess you're actually trading quite afternoons like this one for more... hectic ones in Britain."

The group quietly spoke amongst themselves.

"We have a marching order; Everyone, pick up your things, and head back to camp, get in your uniforms, and pack into the trucks. We have a long few days ahead of us."

Many a disheartened moan was heard in the group, as they picked up towels, packed up the volleyball net and ball, and left the beach.

---Back at Camp, about an hour later---

It was a cramped fit inside the Krupp trucks that had come to pick up the Infantry in the groups. Group Werner, predictably, had already moved out for the staging area. In total, six squads of five men each (three squads from each group) had to pile into two trucks, which was further complicated by personal belongings, and the fact that the four tanks (two from each group) were setting out by rail, which meant that the vehicle crews also had to pile into the trucks.

All told, that was about forty-eight (thirty infantrymen, four vehicle crews of four people each, and the two lieutenants) people attempting to stuff themselves into two trucks, not counting the truck's drivers, who added to the total for a nice fifty people.

Which, of course, translated into large amounts of complaining when the troops were just stuffed in a truck like pigs.

Even if the vehicles had their canopies down, that didn't mean that it was any less cramped.

"Look at that lucky son of a..." Adler started, but he was interrupted by von Groebel.

"Hey! Don't talk about the Colonel like that!" Lieutenant von Groebel shouted.

"Ok, fine. But why's he get his own car, and we have to ride in these, pardon my French, pieces of shit?"

"It's simple, Adler. He doesn't." the Lieutenant calmly pointed out, as both Varrot and von Luck got into the Krubelwagen.

"Oh, yeah, sure! Oh, it's _so cramped inside that car, they might bump their heads on the non-existent roof!_"

"Shut up, Adler." Lieutenant von Groebel said, moving towards the car, as did Gunther.

"Oh, look at that, guys! The officers get to ride in the car!"

A small outcry. Von Groebel turned his back to the unruly soldiers, and spoke to the Colonel.

"Colonel. I assume you'll lead, and the trucks will follow, right?"

"Of course. Isn't that how it worked when we redeployed to Munich?"

"Good point, Sir Colonel." Hans turned to Welkin. "You want to be 2nd?"

Welkin shrugged. "I dunno, but I figure we'd better go last, to pick up any guys your boys toss off."

Von Groebel smirked. "Ok then. Von Luck, we should be ready to move out. See you there, Sir Colonel."

The lieutenants headed for the appropriate trucks.

"Hey, any room back there? An officer should stick with his men, you know."

Adler, having seemingly run out of sarcastic remarks, remained silent.

Rothchild spoke up. "Well, if Bieber and Eichel moved apart a bit, we could probably fit you, lieutenant."

"Thank you, Rothchild," von Groebel said, climbing up into the back of the truck.

The trucks set off, towards the Staging area to the East.

---Group "Gunther" truck, a few meters back---

"What's your name?"

Ted Ustinov got no response from the driver.

"Hey, Driver, what's your name?" Ted poked the German, who was preoccupied with the gages on the truck.

The Driver jumped. "AH! I know _noth-ing_!" He looked over his shoulder, at the Gallian soldier who'd just poked him. "What do you want?"

"What's your name?"

"Schultz. Sargent Schultz."

"Aren't you a bit old for a Sargent?"

"Well, um, no?"

"Ok then..."

"Schultz, Time to go. Just follow the other truck." Welkin knocked on the side of the truck, motioning for Schultz to take off after the von Groebel truck.

"_Affirm-_ative_!_ Lieutenant!" Schultz called out, shifting the truck into gear.

---Staging Area 'East', September 1st, 1940---

Alicia worked some kinks out of her neck, as they made a satisfying "crack" sound. She turned around, to see why they had came.

She hadn't seen so many drab gray uniforms since...

No. Never mind. She'd never seen that many uniforms of _any_ color, period.

"Welkin," she started, "How many troops have been gathered here?"

Welkin shrugged. "I haven't a clue. There are so many of them, though, they kind of look like little gray ants..."

Alicia stifled a laugh. That was one of those things Welkin didn't let out when Lieutenant von Groebel was present.

"I'm going to have to concur, Lieutenant Gunther."

Welkin whipped around. "Ah, Colonel von Luck! Sir!" He said, turning to the officer and snapping into a salute. Alicia followed suit.

Von Luck saluted back. "At ease. I guess you're wondering how many troops are here, right?"

The two of them looked at each other, and nodded.

"At least a third of the invasion force, or about fifty-four thousand men, Imperial forces not withstanding."

That last part came as a shock to both the lieutenant and the Sargent.

"Clarify that for me, Colonel," Alicia said, "you did say, _Imperial_ forces, right?"

"That I did. Seems Maximilian decided to threaten Hitler if no Imperial troops took part in the landing. They constitute about twenty-five thousand men, if you're curious."

Lieutenant von Groebel overheard. "Permission to speak, Sir Colonel."

"Permission granted, Lieutenant."

"Sir Colonel, there's a rumor floating about that Brigadier General Eles is leading the Imperial forces. Is this correct, sir?"

"Why, yes, Lieutenant," von Luck said in reply, "though, for the duration of Operation Sea Lion, they are unofficially part of the Wehrmacht, if orders from the Field Marshal von Bock are right."

"Thank you, Sir Colonel." von Groebel turned away, to return to his original Group.

---This Concludes Chapter 9---

_This story is a far cry from what it was going to be originally. For one, Alicia would have wound up in a Gallian version of the French Resistance, and for some degree of irony, Welkin would have been the FlaK38 gunner that killed Alicia, but I decided against both._

_For two, Isara would have been grabbed by the SS, which isn't too improbable to what would have happened in real life._

_And for three, to justify the Imperials and Germans blowing eachother up, I would have made (wait for it)... Adolf Hitler part Darscen (and then I realized how _dumb_ that was. It would have turned the world on Darscens for sure, and Maximilian probably wouldn't knowledgeably join forces with a Darscen, even if he was leader of a military superpower. And the fact that I was basing this off Hitler's hair, of all things.)_

_Also, read this story assuming that Gallians speak a dialect of German, which isn't improbable. ('Bruhl' sounds like a small town in eastern Germany, for instance. This spins from 'Koeln'/Cologne, a town in mid-Germany.)_


	10. Sea Lion

_I'm kicking myself. Last chapter, I did two things:_

_1. I Botched Selvaria's name (Bles - Eles. Ugh, mein Gott, Where the crap did I get that?)_

_2. and I skipped August (Let's just say they took the scenic route.)_

_I feel incredibly stupid for doing these things._

---Southern England, September 5th, 1940---

This was it.

Operation "Sea Lion" was in effect.

The shores of southern Britain were filled with the footprints of one-million, sixty-thousand German troops, and twenty-five-thousand Imperials, with innumerable tread and wheel marks.

---

"Hey, Fritz..."

"Adler at the moment, Rothchild. Tommy could open up on us any second now."

Peter looked at the Sargent for Group von Groebel's B-Squad.

"Ok... Sargent Adler... You talk to Melchiott yet?"

A smirk appeared on Adler's face, but it quickly disappeared.

"Where's Evans?" the Austrian said, seemingly ignoring the question. Peter took this as a 'no.'

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, look for her then. I'm not going to have a Maginot incident here, not with my rifleman."

Peter thought back to the first assault on the Maginot, and how Isara and Bieber had moved out with the wrong groups. In retrospect, it was funny as hell.

Speak of the devil...

"There you are, Evans. Where were you going?" Adler said, having spotted the blond-haired Bruhler.

"Sargent Adler, I was looking for you, sir," she said in reply.

"Ok then. I'll accept that. But I don't like my riflemen disappearing on me. Not in Britain, not in France, not anywhere. _Especially_ not in Britain. And you're not going to just go inside a Hanomag and stay there. I need all the hands I can get."

The squad's Machine Gunner spoke. "Sarge, what we doing here?" he said in a gruff voice.

"Our overall goal, as far as the Lieutenant has told me, is to take London. But, for today, we just need to stick around here and get a beachhead. Rather light duty, actually, and we won't be getting our hands dirty. Sorry, Schneider."

Peter, Susie, and the Machine gunner both sighed in relief, and turned to a gas masked figure holding a flamethrower, and bearing the Corporal's insignia. This figure, Schneider, apparently, lowered the flamethrower and produced a muffled sigh of disappointment.

Adler continued. "Tomorrow, though, we're moving out. Us, and squads A and C are going to provide infantry support for the tanks of the 3rd Panzer division, along with Gunther's three squads D, E, and F, and Werner's squads G and H. The armor from the three groups, I.E. the four tanks and Werner's car, will act alongside 3rd Panzers."

Schneider looked up. Peter laughed as the gasmasked man (well, he thought it was a man) jumped for joy like a little child, muffled 'yay' and all.

"For now, though, we pitch tents and lay sandbags, because those Combat Engineers need all the help they can get."

The squad slung their weapons over their shoulders, save for the machine gunner, for obvious reasons.

---1800 hours---

Peter watched Schneider. He didn't know whether Schneider was his first or last name, or if he was a he in the first place.

"Hey, Fritz?" Peter asked.

"Yeah?" the Sargent said in reply.

"Does Schneider ever take his gas mask off?"

"Well, this one time... No. Different guy."

Peter stood watching Schneider a bit more.

"Is Schneider even a guy?"

Fritz looked towards the Flamethrower.

"I think so; he was in this group back in Gallia. The Wehrmacht was an all-male group back then, so Yeah, Schneider's a guy. Probably did something like burned his face off. He _is_ a flamethrower."

Peter nodded. It did make sense; if Schneider was in the army before the Militia was absorbed, then he probably was a guy. _Not to mention_, Peter thought, _having your face burned off would be a pretty good reason to wear a face-obscuring gas mask._

Fritz looked at his watch, then around, taking a whiff of the air.

"There are three possibilities," the Austrian started. Peter perked up to listen. "The first, is that my nose is deceiving me. The second, Tommy's got a weapon that smells like food. The third, and preferable option, is that it's time to eat."

They, and the rest of the soldiers deployed ther.

---British outpost, about 3 km away---

"Hey, Smith?"

The sniper rubbed his forehead. "What?"

"Did I ever tell you about my cousin who..."

"Yes, yes! You have told me about Edy at least thirty times now! I feel like she's my damned cousin, now!"

The Bren gunner quickly fell silent.

"Ok, then... did I tell you about..."

"Did_ I_ tell _you_ about a Bren gunner who kept bothering a sniper observing the enemy?"

"No. I don't think you have."

"Ok. So, once there was a Bren gunner, who was bothering a sniper. This particular sniper wished the Bren gunner would leave him alone. So he killed the Bren gunner, then had him with tea!"

Nelson quickly shut up. He didn't want to end up like _that_ Bren gunner.

Smith went back to the binoculars. The sun was setting, but he still had a while of light left. The Gerries seemed to be going inside a tent for supper.

"Smith, what's Fritz up to?" Nelson asked. He was incapable of being quite for long.

"Nothing interesting. He's going to go have supper."

"You going to crash the party?"

"Perhaps. Give me the radio."

Nelson dragged a British army radio the two of them had brought.

"Here you are, Smith."

"Thanks. You've actually done something useful." Smith grabbed the radio from the Bren gunner.

"Baker to Charlie. Baker to Charlie. You read me, Charlie?"

"This is Charlie. We hear you, Baker. Go ahead."

"Requesting artillery fire at on the coast. Broad. The Gerries have set up shop there."

"So, just a light peppering across your sector of sea line?"

"If by 'light peppering,' you mean 'heavy shelling,' then yes."

"Got it, Baker. Will relay to the batteries."

"Affirmative. Baker out."

"Charlie out."

Nelson looked at Smith, questioningly. "Now what?" he asked the sniper.

"Now," Smith began in reply, "we watch the fireworks."

---German camp---

"Cezary, leave my men alone!" Peter turned. Sargent Adler had decided to intervene.

"Really? What about all those darkies?"

"For the moment, shuffle them in with...!"

Bickering between Cezary and Adler stopped.

"What's the matter, eh? Can't stand up for your friends?"

"No..." Adler said, on alert. "Incoming artillery fire! Take cover, everyone!" The Austrian Sargent began pulling people out of the tent.

"Oh, yeah ri-"

Rifleman Regard found himself cut off mid-sentence by the explosion of a 25-pounder round, followed shortly by a second.

Everyone scrambled out of the tent.

"The beach! Everyone to the beach!"

No-one knew who shouted this, but whoever it was, everyone did it as though field marshal von Bock had ordered it.

Peter was a bit dazed in what had happened. One second, his Sargent was standing up for Darscens, the next, everyone was rushing out of the mess hall.

Schneider pulled Peter by the collar to the beach, like one would with a small dog. On one hand, Peter didn't think to highly of the presumed pyromaniac for doing this, but on the other, just standing there would have gotten him blown up.

"Where's the rest of the squad?" Peter yelled to the flamethrower.

"Mphf!" He yelled in reply, pointing towards the other three members.

"Thank god! Rothchild! Still in one piece. Get down here!"

Peter did so _quite_ willingly. It beat the pants off staying in the camp and getting blown up.

---British outpost---

"Baker to Charlie! Baker to Charlie! You got them; cease fire!"

A few seconds later, shells from 'Charlie' stopped falling on the German camp.

Nelson looked on in awe. The darkness concealed the rather stupid smile on Smith's face.

"Whoa. That was... I've never seen anything like it!"

"Damn right you've never seen anything like it! Bet Gerry's never seen anything like it either, eh, Edward?"

Nelson looked at Smith. He'd never heard the sniper address him by his first name. Not something he'd get used to.

"I don't think so!"

The two of them shared a laugh.

---German camp---

"Welkin! Damnit, Welkin! Speak to me!"

Hans von Groebel was attempting to wake Welkin up. The Gallian officer had almost been caught in the bast of one of the exploding 25-pounders.

"Five more minutes..."

"No! Right now, lieutenant Gunther!"

"Fine. Fine. I'm up."

The two officers looked over the wreckage of the Eastern base.

"Damn. Took all afternoon to build that..." von Groebel mumbled to himself. He turned back to his drowsy friend. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good. I have a hunch. There's a British outpost out here, probably no farther than four kilometers..."

"Hans, that's pretty far. Think about it. The sun just set, and you're thinking about sending out combat patrols?"

"It couldn't hurt; The last thing we want is for Tommy to drop another load of 25-pounder rounds on us at midnight, right."

Welkin thought about this. "True... But we'd never find them."

"I don't expect to. It spreads out the men, and makes it harder to just drop another shelling on the mass of us."

"Will the Captain or the Colonel approve?"

"I don't know, I haven't found either yet. I don't think I will, not in this lighting."

Welkin rubbed his head. "Ah... my head..."

"You sure you're alright? I can get a medic, you know."

"No, no. I'm fine."

"Ok..."

---September 6th, 1940---

"Von Groebel, Gunther, Werner."

Von Groebel and Welkin saluted the Colonel. Werner, of course, heiled him.

"You are aware of the shelling of our camp last night, right?"

"Of course, Sir Colonel."

"Yes, Colonel."

"Affirmative, Commander."

"At ease, lieutenants," von Luck commanded. "Here's whats going to happen. Everything will go as planned; the third Panzer division will arrive up the beach shortly, and you will escort them. They have some new tanks, called 'Bengal Tiger' tanks. Hitler expects these things to take most of England by themselves, with aid from the air force, of course. Us field commanders have our doubts, though. I need you to provide infantry support to the tanks, should they run into any trouble. Their objective for today has changed, though. They are going to search for the artillery battery that fired upon us, and should any of you see fit, you may aid them."

"Yes, Sir Colonel!" Hans saluted and turned to leave.

"Yes, Colonel!" Welkin saluted and followed Hans.

"Affirmative, Colonel! Heil Hitler!" Werner yelped, as he turned to leave.

"Oh, wait, Gunther."

"Yes, Colonel?" Welkin said, turning back to von Luck.

"Get that bruise checked by a medic before you leave."

---This concludes chapter 10---

_I no idea why, but I feel that most of groups Gunther, von Groebel, and Werner, if I don't kill that last one outright, are going to get overshadowed by two riflemen (Susie and Peter), a Sargent (Adler), a machine gunner (he with no name) and a Pyro export (Schneider), I.E. Squad B._

_Again, leave comments. It's how I know what's wrong, and what's not._


	11. Falcon, Lark, and Cuckoo

_Thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review this; I hope to both develop characterization and have a chaotic tank fight in one chapter. Let's see if that works._

_Also, about Schneider. Fun Fact: Schneider's name is a nod to German band I listen to. Guess what they're called._

---Southern England, September 6th, 1940---

"Where the hell is Gunther?"

Hans von Groebel looked towards the young second lieutenant. Werner was getting impatient. The 3rd Panzer could arrive any minute, and Gunther wasn't present. Which meant that Group Gunther wouldn't move out, which meant no-one would move out.

Hans began thinking to himself, and personally figured Welkin had gone to see a medic concerning his bruised head.

"Waiting for me?"

"Finally! Where the hell have you been?"

"Werner, leave Gunther alone. So what did the medic say?"

"I don't need a medic."

Hans felt his mouth lower into a frown. Before he could say anything on Welkin's condition, though, 3rd Panzers showed up, amongst the normal Panzer IVs seen just about everywhere there were was a German army unit, there were heavier looking tanks, with heavily sloped armor, and what appeared to be ragnite radiators on the back.

Bengal Tigers, no doubt.

Again, Hans stroked his chin concerning ragnite, and it allegedly getting rarer. Perhaps some scientist had figured out how to make synthetic ragnite. He wouldn't put it past them, in fact, it kind of made sense. It was valuable, and with unlimited ragnite comes unlimited funds and fuel.

He shrugged off the ragnite problems running through his head, returning to the fact that his division, the 9th Mechanized, (him, Gunther, and Werner, group-wise) was supposed to be following the line of tanks.

"Roll out, Group von Groebel."

---A short while later---

A shortage of Halftracks left squads A, B, D, F, and I on foot.

'She' was the Sargent of squad D.

'He' was the Sargent of squad B.

And a particular rifleman was bothering 'Him' about talking to 'Her'.

It all sorta made Adler wish he hadn't invited her to the Christmas party of '39.

"Peter, it'd never work. One, because she's taken, that lieutenant Gunther person's basically got her. Second, what's to prevent something horrible happening to either of us? It might not matter much to her, hell, I might just be another Sargent in the German army, but what about my end? Third, maybe you got this all wrong. Perhaps I just like her as a person."

Peter lightly shoved his Sargent.

"Oh, come on, Fritz. You don't think I'm stupid, do you?"

"No, but you could be mistaken. And don't think I don't know about you and Susie!"

"It's simple; There's nothing there."

"Riiiight. And there isn't a big-ass bruise on Gunther's forehead, right?"

"How'd he get that bruise, anyway?"

"Tent stake flew up with a pole, smacked him in the head... don't change the subject, damnit!"

"Just go talk to her."

"Fine, if it'll make you shut up about it."

Adler ran ahead of squad B. Who was he kidding? He did like Alicia. She seemed nice enough. Maybe just a little.

Maybe a lot.

Adler caught up with squad D.

"Ali... Sargent Melchiott?"

She turned to face Adler.

"Hmm?"

"Hi... remember me, from..."

"... Christmas party of '39?"

"Yeah... Adler? You remember that name?"

"Adler... yes, you invited me."

"You sure that wasn't..."

"Wasn't who?"

Alicia stared at the Austrian, as he turned to face into a group of trees, and pointed.

"Sniper. Over there."

"Wha...?" Alicia found herself cut off by a loud bang.

Adler pulled her down, as a bullet mark appeared on the tank she was walking next to. It was about were her head would have been.

"Uh... Thanks."

"You're welcome," Adler said in reply. He went running back to his squad. "Rothchild! Evans! Get your asses over here!"

The pair of riflemen ran up to the Sargent.

"So, you talked to her, and found a sniper that almost blew her head off. That went well."

"Shut up; I talked to her, and we have bigger fish to fry. There's a tommy sniper in those trees over there. We should take him out before he causes too much trouble; I don't think I'll be present for his sh..."

_Bang!_ A scream.

"Heads down! Heads down! Anyone hit?!" a voice called out. It was von Groebel's.

Adler looked around. "We're all goo..."

Oh shit.

Squad D was standing around what appeared to be a dead body. Head count...

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...

Nobody had a pair of brown pigtails.

After a short second, someone from 'D' called out one word Adler hated:

"Medic!"

At least that meant she was still alive.

Adler relayed down the line. "Squad 'D' needs a medic! Pass it on!" The Austrian turned to his own squad. "Don't just sit there trying to catch flies in your mouth; kill that damned sniper!"

---Bunch of trees---

"Gotcha."

Smith was a bit happy with himself. If the shot wasn't fatal (and it probably was), he would have at least occupied someone to get that sargent. He reloaded his Enfield, looked for a new target among the plentiful targets.

Decisions, decisions.

He set his crosshairs on lieutenant. Blond hair, blue eyes. Only one with a swastika armband.

He felt the kick of his Enfield, and watched as a spray of pink came up in the distance.

_Boom, Headshot,_ he said to himself.

A Gerry with a red cross on his helmet, running for the sargent, no doubt. Reload. Sight. Bang.

The German collapsed on the ground, having took a round to the leg. Now the medic needed a medic.

Reload. Sight. Sniper. Gray hair. Bang.

Scratch that. Make that No-hair.

Smith was loving this. To his knowledge, those bloody (in more ways than one) Gerries hadn't even found...

A bullet flew by Smith's ear. He felt a sharp pain, and clutched it.

Perhaps they had found him.

He turned toward the guesstimated direction the bullet came from. He found two soldiers; neither with a helmet. One had blond hair, what looked to be a pink bow, and the other wore a blue hunting cap.

Of these, only the one with the cap had him lined up.

He centered the sights on this bloke's head...

Smith felt a sudden sharp pain in his left arm, as his rifle fell down.

"God damn it, Gerry."

Smith beat a hasty retreat, leaving his Enfield. It would do him no good with only one arm.

---German Column---

"You alright, sir?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

The Medic looked at the soldier who had come to his aid. A woman, another medic, no less.

"It is nothing bandages and time cannot heal. Thank you, miss. But what about the sargent?"

"Don't worry; I'll take care of her."

"Help me to my feet; I'll help you."

"No. Just stay here."

He sat there. "Fine then; make haste. You should have checked her before me anyway."

The other medic ran off; to aid the Squad D sargent.

"The sargent won't make it," he said to himself, though he had no idea that another sargent was listening.

"What do you mean, she won't make it." The medic looked up to this other sargent; Squad B's sargent, no doubt.

"I think it's fairly clear, Sargent; She won't make it. There is only a minute chance that she will live, and that chance dwindles by the second."

The sargent grabbed him. "Listen, Doc. You have to save her. It's your job!"

"Put me down! It is not my job; My job is to keep the wounded alive long enough to get to a field hospital, which we do not have at current!"

"Then make one!"

"How do you expect me to do that? I am but a medic, not an engineer!"

The B-squad sargent dropped the medic, who promptly yelped in pain.

"Fine," said the sargent to the Medic. The sargent left.

---

"Hey! Hey! Lieutenant wants us out of the halftrack! Gunther's D-Squad sargent got shot, and they need something to keep her in!" The sargent of von Groebel's C-Squad said, banging on the side of the halftrack.

"Well, then, they can use their own halftrack. I'm not walking."

"Shut up, corporal. Everyone out."

Squad C, von Groebel's most experienced squad, going back to 1937, before the war had even started, climbed out of the Hanomag they had been riding in.

"Hey, Sarge. Which sargent of Gunther's got shot?"

"Melchiott."

"Oh. I remember her. The Christmas party! Remember that thing she did with the loaf of bread?"

Most of Squad C, minus the sargent, laughed in memory.

"Can it, Eichel."

"Fine, Sarge."

"Sargent Bergmann?"

The sargent turned around, and saluted lieutenant von Groebel.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sargent Adler decided he'd stick with Melchiott. For the time being, B-Squad will be working with you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant!" Bergmann turned back to his squad.

"Ok. B-Squad's out a sargent for now, so that means we get two riflemen, a machine gunner, and whatever Schneider is."

"Now, when you say 'rifleman,' do you mean the rank or a person with a rifle?"

"Person with a rifle. It would have been capitalized if it were the rank."

"Sir?"

"Don't ask, Rifleman."

"Alright, then..."

Squad C was would could be called an "Assault squad." It consisted mostly of the German version of shocktroopers, which were called "Stormtroopers." Like Gallian shocktroopers, stormtroopers often had submachine guns. Unlike shocktroopers, they sometimes carried light anti-structure and anti-vehicle weapons, like the Germanized lance, the Armored Fist (the "Panzerfaust" to English ears).

"So, Bergmann, sir, where are the members of squad B?"

"Senior Rifleman Rothchild, Rifleman Evans, Rifleman Konrad, and Corporal Schneider will be here shortly."

"Mrm-hmm!"

"See?"

Squad C turned to Squad B.

"Squad C, Squad B. Squad B, Squad C. Ok, now that we know each other, let's go. Most of 3rd Panzers has passed us." Bergmann waved for the two squads to follow him.

---A Few Kilometers later, Lead tank, 3rd Panzer division---

"Assault Matildas! That was the battery!"

A large pattern of tread marks denoted a large amount of tanks had been in the area.

The captain in charge looked out through is binoculars.

"Yep. Assault Matildas, no doubt, Lieutenant. Radio to 9th Mechanized that we need their asses up here as soon as possible."

"Yes, captain!" The Lieutenant dashed off towards a Panzer V-R, Better known as the Bengal Tiger. He climbed into the turret, and grabbed a radio.

"Lark to Cuckoo, Eagle, and Sparrow."

"Cuckoo here. Eagle is KIA, sniper got him." the still somewhat drowsy voice of Welkin Gunther replied.

"Sparrow here." Von Groebel, no doubt.

"Where the hell are you guys? A whole shitload of Matildas came and went while you were back there!"

"Captain! The tank tracks stop here!"

"Impossible. Tanks can't just dissappear."

"Like hell. Look."

The Captain looked upon the sudden abrupt stop that the tread marks left.

"Hmm... I'd say this is a fake hill, or at least a hollow one. Perhaps this is were the Matildas are..."

"Captain? I see dots on that hill to the north..."

A loud explosion ripped through one of the less fortunate Panzer IVs, as the Assault Matildas in the distance opened fire on 3rd Panzers.

The Captain dashed to his own command tank, an Edelweiss, the tank the Bengals were copied from.

"Lark to all tanks! Assault Matildas to the north! Fire at wi..."

One of the 25-pounder artillery rounds smacked into the Command tank, as the armor-piercing shot blew the Gallian-designed tank in forty different directions.

"Captain! Captain!" One of the commanders of the Panzer IVs called out over the radio.

"This is Falcon. I'll be taking command of the 3rd Panzers for the time being."

"Colonel von Luck? Of 9th Mechanized? But sir..."

"Don't 'But Sir' me. All tanks, fire on the Matildas."

"Yes sir. You heard the Colonel; All tanks, Fire at will!"

The Bengal Tigers fired over the fake hill at the Matildas, though it was blind fire; they couldn't see whether or not they actually struck the British tanks.

---A Nearby clump of trees---

"Baker to Charlie, Baker to Charlie. Good Hit, Good Hit."

"You know, Nelson," began a British rifleman, "You should be a sargent by now."

"But yet I'm not," replied a commonly called-on Bren gunner. "OK, Charlie, ready for another load?"

"All ready, Baker. Tell us where to drop it."

"OK. Bring them about five meters to my right, try to strike that other funny Fritz tank."

"Got it."

Soon, another salvo came down, one of the rounds impacting the 'Funny Fritz tank,' though it did nothing.

"What the hell, Charlie? That didn't do anything to that tank."

"Describe it to me, Baker."

"Slopped armor, long, sorta narrow gun, a really funny set of wheels."

"King Tiger."

"What?"

"From the German for it, 'Koenigstiger.' Koenig means 'king,' and tiger is obvious. Ergo, King Tiger."

"Ok... Still has a funny set of wheels."

"Did we blow one of them up?"

"You blew up a similar tank. Slopped armor, thicker, stouter gun, and a bit of canvas over the mount."

"The Edelweiss? We killed the Edelweiss?"

"I... guess so. Gratz to ya?"

---This marks the end of Chapter 11--

_Sorry about cutting you off mid-battle, but I really couldn't think of what was going to happen there. I'll continue it next chapter, I promise._

_Also, how many of you did I piss off by having Smith shoot Alicia?_


	12. Stalingrad?

_No, I don't know Russian (I know four words: Dah, Neyet, Davai, and Dasvadanya). I went to Alta Vista Babelfish for the lines in Russian. If anyone who _does_ know Russian is out there, and willing to translate some lines for me for future chapters set during Barbarossa and Citadel, that'd be great. Allied (American, British, Russian) POV enemy chatter can be translated by yours truly, since they're fighting the Germans. Any offers, though, are great._

_---Stalingrad, Russia, 7th January, 1943---_

_How... how could they do this?_

_Alicia had no idea... she threw beam after beam towards the Russians, but while each one took out swaths of men and machines, they merely reformed themselves like some sort of amoeba._

_That seemed so much like something Welkin would have said... and it perfectly described the situation in front of her, minus the fact that amoebas don't have PPSh-41s, or Mosin-Nagants._

_Next to her, a German soldier... Adler, she thought his name was... was firing the MG42 from the fallen machine gunner, Konrad. Next to him, curled up, and cold, was one of the few surviving Bruhlers, and of the unit in general, assuming her frozen body hadn't stopped in this terrible Siberian winter._

_Alicia wished Susie hadn't been drug into this dreadful place; the thought of the remains of the city being the last thing the pacifist saw, was one that one that sent a shiver down her spine, if the cold hadn't already._

_One of the Russians called out something... a sharp pain through Alicia's leg brought her to the ground... to the cold snow that surrounded her..._

_No... She would fight on. They'd already gotten Welkin. And her squad; and all the squads, really. She gripped the lance tighter; she couldn't move, but she could still fight._

_"__Не остановите, камрады!" one of the Russians shouted, "Держите пойти; Убейте их все!"_

_A round from their direction; the machine gun fell silent, and Adler limp._

_"Убейте все фашистские свиней!" another Russian called out. _

_Alicia let out another burst of energy; another swath cut cleanly through the Russian forces; but again, they formed back up, and kept pushing._

_"Не один шаг ОН назад, камрады!"_

_Susie had stood up; her arms raised high, to surrender. The Russians opened up on her, and she fell down; Perhaps in death, her body would be warmer..._

_One of the Russians jumped atop the shield Alicia had. She looked up; a crazed look, one of great triumph, and not a hint of remorse._

_"Умираете, вы сук!" He called as his submachine gun rattled._

_Alicia went limp. Life left her; the Russian called out in jubilation._

_She heard him, and understood him. "The Valkyria is dead! The Valkyria is dead! Comrades! We did it! A great victory for the motherland on this day!"_

_The Valkyria is dead!_

_...Valkyria is Dead!_

_...yria is Dead!_

_...is Dead!_

_...ead!_

_"...icia? Alicia!"_

---10th September, 1940---

"Alicia!"

She woke up, startled, and looked around. An SS Major, and both the surviving lieutenants.

And Sargent Adler.

"Agh... where am I?"

Welkin spoke. "The field hospital." The lieutenant brought himself around her, hugging her. "I'm so glad you're OK..."

"What day is it?"

"Huh? Oh... September tenth, 1940. Why?"

"Nothing... just... curious. That's all."

The SS Major pulled Welkin off her. "That is all, Lieutenant. I have something to discuss with the sargent."

Welkin got up, not questioning the Major's authority.

"_Alone_, Lieutenant."

"But sir..."

The SS Major threw a threatening look at Welkin.

"Yes, sir."

Welkin, von Groebel, and Adler left. The SS Major turned away from Alicia to watch them leave.

He spoke, in a low voice. "Miss sargent," he started, "you are a... 'special' person. One of the Valkrur. For this reason, the Leader himself has taken an interest in you. When you were shot by that British sniper, it threatened your life, allowing us to activate your powers," the Major turned away from Alicia, an continued. "Just think of what the Fatherland could do," he turned back to her, "with someone such as yourself. How many nations will feel the jackboot of Nazi aggression... how many subhumans we can exterminate. With your aid."

"What makes you think I will help you? Why _would_ I want to help you?"

The Major leaned in closer. "Who said you had to _want_ to?"

Alicia pushed herself away from the Major. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple," he said, leaning in closer still, pinning her down with his hand. "If you don't comply, Hitler will decide that all Gallians will be subhumans. Your friends, _all_ of them... Welkin, Isara, Susie... will die in a concentration camp. _That_ is why you will help the Reich, and the Leader, miss."

She had no choice, not if she didn't what everyone she knew to die. "Yes," she said, stifling tears, "sir."

"Good," The SS Major said, getting up. "It was... nice, talking with you, sargent." He snapped into a right armed salute. "Heil Hitler."

He turned and left. As soon has he had left the room, Welkin went to talk to him.

"Major, what did you say in there?"

"That is not your business, lieutenant."

von Groebel stood up behind Welkin. "Tell the man. Tell us both. What did you say to her?"

The Major smiled. "I made her an offer she couldn't refuse, not if your life depended on it."

Welkin and Hans looked at each other questioningly.

The Major walked away, after motioning for another member of the SS to follow him.

Hans motioned towards the Major.

"Agh," he said a bit angrily, "SS. They drive me mad."

---_This Con... No, wait... I have a promise to keep. Damn, I'm jumping all over the war today._---

---6th September, 1940 (Last one, I swear)---

One of the King Tigers rolled up atop the hill, for a fix on the Assault Matildas.

"Enemy tank spotted! Direct fire!" one of the Matilda commanders shouted.

The tank leveled the 25-pounder gun with the German tank, and fired an armor-piercing shot.

After a few seconds, a cloud of dust appeared in the distance. It was a little below the German tank.

The remaining two King Tigers (of three) rolled up the hill, and opened fire on the Assault Matildas.

An 88mm round hit one of the Matildas, and the vehicle burst into a concussive cloud of shrapnel and burning ammunition. A second 88 struck one of the six remaining Matildas in hull. A hole was torn in the front of the vehicle, and the now five Matilda tanks started to role backwards in retreat.

The King Tigers in the distance started rolling forward, as another 25-pounder round struck one in the tread. A concussion, and a cloud of dust. The tank stopped dead in its tracks, and the Matildas fired their 25-pounders towards it. The rounds burst against the vehicles armor, and the combined blast blew the tank so wide open, another tank could be driven into it.

"We got one!"

Celebration was short lived. The five Matildas fired down on the two remaining King Tigers, which planted 8.8 cm ammunition in two of the Matildas, causing them to explode. The three remaining ones turned around and retreated, hopping to outrun the heavier tanks.

The two German tanks fired upon the Matildas one last time, striking the lighter tanks in the engines. Both tanks exploded into fireballs as their fuel tanks caught fire, and the crew rushed to abandon the vehicles. The final Matilda ran away to fight another day.

One of the two King Tigers was about to fire upon it, but it the commander of the other tank told otherwise.

"Nein, Rotkehlchen. Eine Matlida-Hinterbliebener wird nicht verletzt."

"Jawohl. Kuckuck, Sperling, was ist los?"

_---Alright. THIS is the end of Chapter 12.---_

_I have this terrible feeling I botched my German more than I botched the Russian. And I translated the German myself, by the way._

_Leave a review (along with a correct translation) as you see fit._


	13. One Autumn Day

_Fun Fact: Fritz Adler shares his name with a bunch of real-life Austrians. One of these, a politician-turned-assassin, was even born in Vienna. Seems his name was more common than I thought. (And to think he almost wound up "Klaus Adler!")_

---Southern England, Army Group "East" Field HQ, 22nd November, 1940---

"Adler! Sargent Adler! Fritz!" Peter called out to the sleeping Austrian sargent.

Drowsily, Adler rolled over in his bunk, and gave an odd response. "Five more minutes, mother."

"Oh, no, you don't! The Captain wants to see you!"

Adler rolled over towards Peter. "Fine. But of all the dreams he chose to wake me during, why _that_ one?"

"What dream?"

"One concerning me, Alicia, and a distinct lack of clothing on either of us."

Peter chuckled lightly. "Noce won't think very highly of you, sir."

"Noce isn't a second sargent, is he?"

"That he is not."

Adler sat up, and got the 'navy cap' he wore during rest periods.

"Ok, Peter. What's Var... von Groebel want with me?"

"Still getting used to Varrot being a major?"

"Yep."

Peter stepped back a bit as the Austrian stood up, and stretched a bit.

"Well, what is it von Groebel wants?"

"Marching orders, from the field marshal... Rommel, was it?"

Adler grabbed his submachine gun, an old MP18 he clung on to. The wood stock reminded him of the Kar98, and the fact he didn't know the first thing about automatic weapons. Of the things they had done on the 9th's two weeks of break for replacing the killed and restocking on various tidbits like ammunition and socks, the two of them had taken some 'liberties' concerning the fact Adler's MP18 was scheduled to leave service with front line units. He really didn't want one of the cold-looking MP40s, even if his crush, sargent Melchiott of the 9th's squad D, used it.

It was oddly cold for a day in mid-November; one could swear there was the occasional snowflake intermixed with the falling leaves. Peter and Adler stood outside the tent that served as the male quarters, and looked out at their surroundings. The tanks of the two groups, Group von Groebel and Group Gunther, were being fueled and stocked with ammunition.

---

"God damn High Command! And God damn this infernal machine!"

Isara looked up from the Panzer IV she was placing the finishing touches on. Near by, her von Groebel counterpart, Hans Bieber, was pounding on the side of a French tank. The designation escaped her.

"What seems to be the trouble, Bieber?"

The low German turned to her. "Everything. We send for heavy tanks, and High Command gives us these Frenchie piles of crap. The engines don't run right, the turret is cramped, and the main gun is in the hull! How does Command expect me to do anything with this junk?"

Isara went over to the French tank. Char B1 Bis. A fairly respectable tank in her mind, though the 47mm gun was absolute rubbish. Bieber moved out of her way; if she could get the machine to run right, he was fully willing to let her have a shot at it. He also had more pressing matters than an outdated French excuse for a tank, as he would have put it. Werner's old SdKfz 222 had suspension problems, possibly as result of the foolish ex-living lieutenant treating it like a much heavier vehicle. He left Isara to work on the B1 bis herself; she had proven herself just as capable, if not more so, than Bieber himself.

Neither would get the opportunity to actually get anything done in any case. One of the lieutenants, Bergmann, who was promoted to fill the gap created by von Groebel's promotion to Captain, walked into the makeshift workshop.

"Ahem. In case you didn't know, gearheads, we're moving back out. Leave you pet projects alone, we have bigger fish to fry. Command wants us to help in the taking of London, so get your asses in gear. Groups West and Center won't wait for one puny devision."

---Field Command, Army Group "East"---

Erwin Rommel figured himself for an understandable man; he could keep his cool in the most stressful situations, had more experience than many of the Politically-promoted Field Marshals, and was highly respected by both sides.

So what the hell was it with this Imperial general that drove him mad? Rommel had asked himself this many times over; In some ways (more than he felt comfortable with, at least), she had some things in common with him; both he and Bles tended to lead their assaults from the front; Rommel in the protection of a mighty Bengal Tiger tank, and Bles using her powers to personally strike fear into the hearts of enemies (something Rommel could quasi-emulate, with Sargent Melchiott. He just normally chose not to.)

The coming assault on London was going to be something. It would be the first "actual" contact between Imperial and German forces, and this is what worried Rommel. Bles had remained intentionally unaware of the fact that Army Group "East" also deployed several Gallian units (the 4th Infantry came to mind), along with the German units that also made up the entire strength of the remaining groups "West" and "Center."

"Marshal Rommel," started Bles. She obviously held Erwin in high regard. "Me and my troops will assault from the East. If my understanding is correct, you're attacking from the south, and groups West and Center from the north and west, respectively. Is this correct, marshal?"

"Yes, Brigadier."

"Is it also my understanding that you have a Valkyria in your command, sir?"

"I do; I just have no tactical use for her, that I cannot accomplish via other, more readily-available means. Tanks don't have to be in the right mood to fight."

"Yes, marshal, but still, I recommend it greatly..."

"Silence, Selvaria! I do not need to use a Valkyria in battle! Just because you are one, and you keep pressuring me to use Melchiott, doesn't mean I actually will! _I_ am the field marshal here!"

Selvaria quickly found herself silenced by the otherwise cool and mild-mannered Rommel.

"Besides; you make me think you want her to get killed in action. Sure, you may be able to turn the tide of a battle, but you will met your match one day. Be it on the battlefield, or off it, you will met your match. We all do; being of Valkyrur descent is no guarantee of invulnerability to attacks."

She did not believe the words Rommel spoke; the were all fabricated to her. Being a Valkyria was an almost one-hundred percent guarantee of her immortality, in her mind. She returned her thoughts to Rommel, who she now held in lower regards.

"The operation is to commence at 0700 hours on the 28th of November. We expect to face heavy antiaircraft fortifications, and potentially counter-battery, antitank, and antipersonnel defenses. The British have been fortifying London since Sea Lion began, so it is plausible that they have heavy fortifications, such as tank blockades and the sort. Due to the heavy AAA weapons deployed in and around the city, we cannot deploy aircraft without heavy casualties, so this will be a ground-only operation. Follow me?"

"Yes, Marshal Rommel."

---End Chapter 13---

_I'll confess. Chapter 13 was originally going to be everyone scaring the crap out of Adler, who harbors superstitions over things such as Banshees and goblins, and that sort. The mental image of him about to take the MP18 to one of the Squad B members, only for the member to go "Agh! Don't shoot, it's just a joke!"_


	14. Reflection

---Berlin, Germany, 24th November, 1940---

Hitler was quite amazed with Gallia taking German occupation not only willingly, but even _aiding_ German forces.

The GRA, some sort of movement that was receiving aid from German forces, the SS in particular. Hitler figured that, if anything, anti-German sentiments would be through the roof in the aftermath of the invasion. While the GRA had a potent anti-Darscen streak, and the Nazi party was more-or-less neutral towards the dark-haired peoples, the GRA had decided that they would be better off aiding Germany, for both political and military reasons (such as the fact that they were certain Germany wouldn't hesitate in using a few front-line military units against them.)

But, aside from that, the GRA and the NSDAP had a lot in common. In some odd method, which Hitler didn't contemplate, both groups had ended up with considerable anti-semitic mindsets (possibly the NSDAP rubbing off on the GRA). It also cut down on the number of occupation troops actually needed in Gallia, having locals willing to help you and all.

This wasn't what troubled Adolf on this day, though.

It seemed that the relations between the Imperials and the Italians had gone stale, so to speak.

Either that, or Imperial pro-Valkyrur ideals conflicted with Mussolini's own ideas of rebuilding the Roman Empire. The Valkyrur and the Romans didn't like each other way back when, and that carried over into the 20th century.

Hitler also had to confess; Maximilian had duped him into thinking he was the actual leader of the Imperial Alliance, though it was, admittedly, for the better. That 'dupe' turned out to provide Hitler with a trump card in England, the Imperial general Selvaria Bles, who the British called, if his advisors were correct, the Azure Witch, or something to that affect.

But this did not change the fact that the Axis Powers could fall apart, and the Imperials and Italians could soon be squaring off against each other, just like the Roman-Valkyrur wars that caused the Valkyrur and Rome to fall in the first place.

"No!" Hitler screamed suddenly, to the surprise of the officers around him, as he banged his fist against the table in front of him.

Himmler was confused; he was reporting on the success of the campaign in England, and the Leader responded not only objectionably, but quite angrily so. They couldn't have been doing better of Bles was a native-born German/Valkyrur.

Well, maybe not _that_ good. Perhaps it would have been better if she was German, perhaps even blond-haired and blue-eyed when she wasn't active.

"My leader? What is wrong? Aren't you glad that Sea Lion is successful thus far?"

Hitler turned to the leader of the SS. "I'll be frank, Heinrich," he began, "the war in Britain is not what troubles me. It's Imperial-Italian relations that are giving me metaphorical hell."

Himmler had remained in the dark about the relations between the two other Axis members.

"What do you mean, my leader?"

"It's like this, Heinrich," Hitler began, "The East European Imperial Alliance, and Fascist Italy have a bit of a history. It goes all the way back to the Roman and Valkyrur empires."

Himmler could recall a bit of this from history class. "If I remember correctly, my leader, the Romans and the Valkyrur were great allies, right?"

Hitler chuckled a bit, and turned back to the table. "That's only part of it. The alliance between the two was short-lived, it lasted about twenty years, when the Valkyrur king that forged the alliance with the Romans died. The next king acted aggressively against Rome, which ended up being the nail in the coffin of both empires. The resulting war ruined both. Though Rome eventually won, its economy was smashed, the military destroyed, and the people starving. The Roman and Valkyrur empires passed into the history books."

Himmler still did not see the similarities between the the Valkyrur-Roman relations and the Imperial-Italian ones, though how Rome had managed to face off against not only a Valkyria, but plausible armies of them, and not only hold their own, but _win_ against such odds. No wonder Rome fell; such a war would have left them devastated.

"We need to draw their attention away from each other. We need a second front; one were forces from the three European Axis nations will fight..."

"What are you suggesting, my leader?"

"Russia..." Hitler spoke up, and stood tall. "Gentlemen, this coming spring will mark the beginning of the joint Imperial-German-Italian invasion of the Soviet Union."

The officers stared at the leader. They would immediately draw up plans for the German portion of the Assault, and diplomats would attempt to secure Imperial and Italian efforts.

---Outskirts of London, England, 25th November, 1940---

Marina was cleaning the Kar98k issued to her. In ways, it wasn't to dissimilar from the GSR-20 she used in the Gallian militia (she even thought one was a copy of the other at times). Both fired the same 7.92mm round. Both were satisfactory for sniping. And, amazingly enough, both could be used with the scope her father used during the first war, despite the scope being of Gallian build.

Perhaps they were the same rifle with a different designation, and nothing else.

"Corporal Wulfstan? May I have a word with you?"

The voice belonged to the Captain that replaced Varrot after her promotion. She never learned his name; he responded to just "Captain" fine enough.

"Corporal Wulfstan, get out of there! Squad H wants their halftrack back!"

Squad H. From that prick Werner. Marina was fairly certain she knew who took that shot. A British sniper she meet back in Gallia, Thomas Smith. Given Werner's treatment and overall opinion of Gallians, she kind of wanted to thank Tom.

"God damn it, Wulfstan! Get out of that halftrack! They stepped up the assault on London! Get back with your squad!"

"Sir! I'm not finished yet!"

"I don't give a damn! you can finish piecing your gun back together with your own squad!"

If she was any other person, she would have chuckled. The Captain had it set in his mind that cleaning and field stripping a gun were one in the same. He was partially right. Marina picked up the K98 off her lap, and got out of the Hanomag.

"Ok, H. She's out now."

---Southern London---

"So, Tom," the Bren gunner sitting casually next to the sniper began. "You told me a little bit, back in France, I think, about a Gallian sniper. Marina Wulfstan, was it?"

Thomas Smith shifted his weight, bringing the small cup to his lips. Even staring down the sights of about four different kinds of army group, Thomas still found time to have a calming cup of tea.

"Well, Edward," Tom began, "it was a few weeks ago, in Kent."

"One way or the other, Tom, you told me about her."

Edward took another sip of tea, then began talking.

"You're right, Edward. I suppose you want to know how I, a British sniper, from West Sussex, no less, came to know someone like her?" Tom didn't wait for a response. "I met Marina before you joined the British army. You joined a bit after the end of the war in Gallia, if I remember correctly. Moving right along, me and her decided to bet on, out of sheer boredom, who could nab the most Gerries in... an hour, I think."

"And you won, of course."

"Let me finish, Eddie. As I was saying, we picked our positions, and the hour started... yeah, it was an hour... and we started picking off the poor blokes one by one. I was... a bit slow. She came out a good few ahead of me."

"So, what'd you bet her?"

"Well, it was a few pounds I didn't have, because I thought I'd win. I still owe her..."

"Actually seems like you two were kind of friendly, Tom. How'd you get to hating her?"

Tom went to sip his tea again, but found the small tin cup empty. "You know, before I was in the same unit as you? Back in 5th Infantry?"

"Oh! Oh... oh god..."

"When about seven-eighths of the people you know get picked off by one person, you tend to develop a vendetta against that person, even if she's just doing her job."

Edward nodded. Made perfect sense to him. If Tom went turncoat, Edward was certain he'd be pissed off at the sniper. If Tom started picking off his buddies, Edward could see himself coming to hate the sniper, as well.

The two of them sat in silence in the deep bunker that had been built below a bakery, of all places. Tom chuckled a bit, he could think of a Gallian Militia sargent who would probably be up there baking bread, but he felt a bit guilty that her name escaped him.

The pounding of artillery above started reverberating through the bunker. The light flickered a bit.

Thomas got up, Enfield in hand. Edward did the same with his Bren gun, and the two of them, who weeks beforehand would have been swearing at each other, walked off to face a common enemy, the German Army.

---This Concludes Chapter 14---

_I seem to be setting up Operation Barbarossa a bit early, Don't I? Although, unless I'm having a brainfart, Italian forces **didn't** take part in Barbarossa. I'll have to research this, but one way or the other, it gives me a reason to introduce some non-Germanic and non-Anglo characters – although, once the war shifts to Russia, you can expect to see more than one character telling Mother Russia's story. I'm also working names out for the Russian equivalent of the three groups, though it is implausible I'll give the Red Army a Valkyria. Think about it – Red Army vs. Botmoys (I botched that, Didn't I?), the Marmota, and Selvaria. Also, Alicia's Stalingrad dream may or may not come true._

_Also, at some point in time, I intend to actually stop telling the story from an Axis POV. If Alicia's Stalingrad dream does come true, it would be from a Russian standpoint, anyway._

_Also, review. It's A Good Way To Tell What's Wrong (tm)._


	15. London

_Note: Henceforth, Group von Groebel is referred to as Group Bergmann. If you think about it, since von Groebel's promotion to Captain, this makes everybody below him a member of Group von Groebel._

_Note 2: There will be conversation between Gallian and German characters... in German. In other words, the lines spoken from German POV can be assumed to be in German, not English. As noted, my German's a bit rusty, so it may be incorrect (I refuse to use a machine translation for a language I already know!)_

---London, England, 26th November, 1940---

Adler found himself attempting, quite greatly, to keep from striking Susie. It was one of those problems he had back in Vienna, and had cost him more than one girlfriend.

Of course, she'd asked the fairly dumb question of "Why is Schneider sitting on that end of the truck?"

It was one of the things squad B (well, _most_ of squad B) had come to recognize, was that when muffled laughs came from Corporal Schneider, nothing good was going to happen to those in the immediate vicinity around him.

Of course, one really couldn't expect new guys to know this. Peter found himself in the fortunate position of knowing enough about Schneider to keep his distance from the... whatever it was Schneider happened to be, though 'guy' was the most probable.

Schneider seemed to know this, too. He watched the rest of squad B, what he considered to be the closest things to friends he would have, and scooted himself down to the end of the Truck that didn't have the other four members of the squad. His job was to cause 3rd-degree burns amongst the enemy, not his comrades.

He chuckled to himself again. He'd never actually lit up a Tommy (they were all so far away. He often had to use his cursed rifle), and with it basically being excepted as fact that London was a close-quarters area, what with all those bunkers...

Peter, watching Schneider, asked Adler a question he was uncertain he really wanted an answer to."Fritz, what's Schneider doing?"

"I don't know, Peter, and I don't _want_ to know," was the Austrian's response. Peter figured it was for the better.

The Halftrack, a SdKfz 251, kept rolling along side the 9th's now-five tanks, which consisted of Captain von Groebel's Edelweiss, the Panzer IVs both Welkin and Bergmann used, plus a pair of IIIs.

---Southern London Bunker---

"I thought you said some Assault Matildas killed the Edelweiss, Ed!"

Edward looked at the sniper next to him, Smith, and back out to the advancing German forces. Low-and-behold, the Edelweiss was amongst them.

"I did, Tom! I don't know how the Fritzes got it pieced back together!"

Edward got a nice thunk on the helmet.

"Well, try dropping _two_ 25-pounders on it next time!"

The two of them ducked as a high-explosive round tore open the bunker. The two of them now found themselves exposed to artillery fire. Thomas grabbed Edward by the collar, and lead him out of the bunker, back into the fortified tunnels. Soon behind them, some Germans, one of them with a flamethrower, ran into the newly-formed hole in the bunker.

---German POV---

Alicia's squad, D, ran in behind B squad's flamethrower. She made a note in her mind to learn the trooper's name, though she recalled overhearing his name from Peter and Squad B's sargent calling him "Schneider."

German army doctrine seemed to be working in her favor, this time out. The Anti-tankman, Largo, was having trouble with the long Panzerbuesche antitank rifle, and Marina's K98 (and everyone else's) was far less effective at close quarters (she noted that more than one rifleman had elected to fix his or her bayonet, or just use the Walther P38 that was issued as a side-arm.)

A bit ahead of her, C-squad was clearing out the various rooms in the tunnels, and the B-Squad flamethrower, who was quite audibly enjoying himself, as an orange glow lit the tunnels ahead, and a muffled laugh echoed through them. The laugh sent a shiver down her spine; very few people could willingly kill people without some sort of reason, and fewer still enjoyed it.

---British POV---

Edward and Thomas watched the German soldiers, as the gas masked one poured burning petrol into every nook and cranny, to make sure no British soldiers would ambush them. Edward was getting a bit worried; the flamethrower was drawing ever closer to the door in which they were hiding behind. The would-be Bren gunner, who had left his gun in the bunker, now held a Browning Hi-Power pistol, as did Thomas.

Thomas reached for the door, to push it out on the Germans, perhaps smack one (preferably that flamethrower) with it.

The flamethrower went to turn around the door to light the pair of them up, but was greeted by the deafening pops of a pair of Hi-Power pistols. He let out a muffled moan, and collapsed on the ground. With any luck, he was dead.

Edward clutched his ear; The pistol, in less confined spaces, would have been much quieter than the Bren gun he normally used. A rifleman, a blond girl, turned the corner. Again, Thomas fired off the Hi-Power, and more deafening pops were heard, along with a shriek. The two of them, temporarily deprived of the ability to hear correctly, ran down the tunnel.

---German POV---

_Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!_

"Hrm-mm..."

_Pop! Pop!_

"Aaah!"

Peter, and the rest of the people in the tunnel, heard a ringing sound. He was disorientated, as he heard people calling out something, but he didn't know wha...

Peter looked down. Susie was looking up at him, but, the look in her eyes was completely devoid of emotion...

No. No!

A pair of holes were in the Bruhler's uniform, and some blood on the wall behind her. Peter clutched her body in his hands. She was still warm...

"Rifleman Rothchild! Are you...?"

He looked up to see sargent Adler.

"No, Sargent. I'm not."

---British POV---

"Oberschuetze Rothchild! Bist du...?"

"Nein, Unterfeldwebel. Ich bin nicht."

Edward looked up a bit. The ringing was still there, but it he could hear properly now.

"I think you killed his girlfriend, Tom."

The now stoic sniper looked at the Bren gunner, and let his pistol drop to his side.

"If the one crying had any say-so, he'd have denied it."

Edward was a bit curious as to how he seemed to know at least half the Wehrmacht personally. He figure'd he save it for later, though. Now wasn't the time to hear at least fifty-hundred-some-odd life stories.

Now was the time to end a couple.

"Oberfeldwebel Melchiott. Kommen sie hier, bitte."

Edward watched. 'Oberfeldwebel Melchiott' came up to the first 'Unterfeldwebel.'

"Ja, Unteroffizier Adler?"

"Sagte zum Hauptmann von Groebel, dass Schuetze Evans und Obergefreiter Schneider sind tod. Koennen sie das gemacht fuer mich? Wir haben keine Radio."

"Ja, Adler."

"Danke schoen, Oberfeldwebel."

The female Oberfeldwebel nodded in acknowledgment to the male Unterfeldwebel. She then turned out, and called:

"Eine Radio! Eine Radio! Geben mir die Radio!"

Thomas moved to get a shot off at the "Fraulien," but he brought his boot down a bit too hard.

"Eine momente, Alicia. Was ist das?"

The group of German soldiers fell even more quite than they were. Thomas and Edward tensed.

"Da drueben." the Unterfeldwebel pointed towards a door up ahead. The "Oberschuetze," with a blue cap and a shawl unique to him, picked up one of the rifles on the ground.

---German POV---

"Over there."

Peter got up, and ran over to the door, picking one of the rifles up off the ground. A good portion of the squads followed.

Alicia turned to Adler. "How do you know my name, Sargent?"

Adler turned as red a cherry. "Well... um... heh. Good question."

She grabbed Adler's collar, and pulled him close. The preferable, but less likely, outcome was a kiss. The less preferable, but more likely one, was getting shouted at.

"Tell me, Sargent Adler!" She had raised her voice. The only thing he heard over it was the dun of artillery and gunfire.

Definitely the second one.

"Uh, sir... ma'am, I, erm found your name out..." Adler stopped mid sentence, and spoke the remaining words in Russian he had picked up as a child. Alicia shook her inferior.

"In German, Adler!"

"Ok! Ok... Peter was trying to convince me that I should talk to you, and he dropped your first name."

Alicia let go of Adler. "All I wanted to know."

A loud bang, the sound of a door being opened too far, followed shortly thereafter by Peter screaming in pain.

The two of them assumed the worst, though they had heard no gunshots (and their ears weren't ringing).

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" The two of them cried, though they soon saw what looked like Peter's hat coming towards them through the crowd.

"I hade doese Dombies. Dey got away!"

Adler and Alicia watched as Peter, clutching his nose. Rothchild was having what could be called a bad day. Susie got killed, which made him mad, and, apparently, one of them had tossed his pistol at him, breaking his nose.

There was only one thing that really could have made this day worse, and that was _everyone_ getting killed. Something Adler hoped, for the life of him, did not happen.

Alicia and Adler turned away from Peter, and rejoined the squads. Peter kept walking down the tunnel, at least until he came to the crumpled body of Schneider and Susie.

Peter found himself standing there, just staring at Schneider's gas mask. He looked behind him, then in front of him.

He reached down to the decesed flamethrower, and removed the helmet that he (or she) and most everyone else Peter knew wore.

Peter checked for any people coming, then hastily removed the gas mask.

The assumption that Schneider had burned himself prior wasn't entirely incorrect. Only a small tuft of (oddly enough) fiery red hair was on Schneider's head. Peter decided that, if Schneider had ever taken the gas mask off, he'd probably have tried to get acquainted with him.

Curiosity satisfied, Peter took a few more steps to pay some final respects to Susie. He'd always figured that she'd have died old and happy back in Bruhl, which, looking back, was wishful thinking. He hugged her, as one would your younger sister if she was hurt, and said, in a calm voice:

"Sleep well, Susie. I'll see you again, soon enough."

---29th November, 1940---

_TATATATATATA-!_

Adler watched as Konrad, B's machine gunner, opened up on a window in an apartment a short way down the road with his MG34.

The man, Konrad, was a bit of a black sheep, by any man's standards. The Machine gunner had stated that he was Darscen (hence why he was just "Konrad"), but he seemed too large, in comparison to the fragile-looking frames of the other Darscens that Adler knew. Which might also explain why the resident 'dark-hair'-haters never picked on Konrad; he looked capable of taking on any of them (perhaps _all_ of them) with his bare hands and winning.

"Ok, buddy, you got him..."

"Not to sound too insubordinate, Sarge, but how do you know?"

"You've ate up the better part of a belt shooting that window."

"True, but better safe than sorry, eh?"

Konrad's MG34 fell quite, and he hoisted it back up. Adler thought about that last sentence. He'd rather have expended seventy five (or so) rounds of 7.92 ammo getting one guy, than get one round of .303 in the head. 'Better safe than sorry,' as Konrad tactfully put it.

The two members of B-squad stood up, and saw Lieutenant Bergmann.

"You two, get your asses over here!"

Same old brash Bergmann. Konrad and Adler 'got their asses over there,' to Bergmann's Panzer IV.

"You two have done well over the past couple of days, though, Konrad, you really shouldn't be chewing through that much ammo to kill one sniper."

Konrad turned red as Autumn itself.

"Anyway, Tommy's decided that he's not gonna fight any more, which means that we're officially on-break. Enjoy yourselves gentlemen. That's an order."

No better order than "Enjoy yourselves." Adler instantly darted off, looking for Sargent Melchiott (presumably to apologize for his actions a few days prior), and Konrad just stood there, looking out over the canal.

"Lieutenant Bergman, is that a _battleship_ in the Canal?"

"No; that's a Light Cruiser. You have no idea how many 150mm rounds we had artillery drop on that thing."

One way or the other, Konrad was simply glad he didn't have go fight that thing. He walked off, taking his sweet time to enjoy what was left of the scenery.

"Wonder were Adler went?"

---End Chapter 15---

_The Canon-Character body count has reached... hmm... 2? (Edy Nelson, Susie Evans [So that Stalingrad dream can't happen now]) OC Body Count: 3 (Staub, Schneider, and Werner. Which is actually why I kept Cezary. I need a bastard Character who I can basically pick on. Werner was an acceptable target anyway [but was a sore thumb do to him actually being a Nazi. I figure I'll go through a lot of Nazis]. So Cezary's the only permanent bastard. Isn't he lucky?)_

_Also, think I broke the whole "No OC/Canon parings' rule. Though, it will be the most linear love triangle ever written (Alicia/Welkin, with Adler trying to force his way in with a crowbar. [Spoiler: crowbar breaks... or will it?])_

_As always, leave a review._

_(Also, to clarify ranks during the British POV:_

_Unterfeldwebel Frederich "Fritz" Adler - Adler's a Sargent_

_Oberfeldwebel Alicia Melchiott - Alicia's a Sargent, 1st class/Colour Sargent (Depends which side of the pond you're on)._


	16. Kirovsk, not Kirov

_Note: Kirovsk is a real town in Russia on the Kola Peninsula. If you're thinking of Kirov, the namesake of Red Alert's Kirov Airships, you're greatly mistaken. You're on the wrong side of Moscow, I think (Kirovsk is west, Kirov is east, IIRC)._

---Kirovsk, Russia, 10th December, 1940---

It was quite in the Vodnik household. Primarily because the sole two members, older brother Oleg, and younger brother Sergei, were away.

The two Vodnik brothers were members of the glorious Red Army, ready to fight and die for mighty Comrade Stalin, and Mother Russia. Oleg was a machine gunner, and Sergei, a rifleman.

---Army Base, Moscow, Russia---

The two brothers sat next to each other, eating their bread and drinking their water. The two of them sat in silence. They knew nobody but each other in the base (all their Kirovsk friends were deployed to other bases).

That did not mean they did not know some names, though.

One of those names, Ivan Melnikov, seemed to have taken a liking to the Vodniks.

"So, you are Oleg, and Sergei, right?"

Oleg looked up to the Submachine gunner, and his PPD-40.

"Hello, Melnikov. What do you want?"

"It's simple, Oleg. I'd like to sit with you, and eat my bread. Maybe, talk a bit?"

Sergei looked up at Ivan. "I don't see why not," said the younger brother, more so to Oleg than to Ivan.

Ivan sat down on the opposite side of the table as the two brothers. "So, were you two from?"

"Kirovsk," Sergei replied. Both of them could see Oleg would not give much input.

"You're from Kirov, too? Man, I thought..."

"No-no-no, Kirov_sk_. You know, on the Kola Peninsula?" Sergei corrected.

Ivan thought for a moment. "Oh! Ah... sorry about that."

"Common mistake; You're not the first, and certainly not the last," the younger brother nodded lightly, and continued. "As you were saying, You're from Kirov?"

"Yes, I am, unfortunately. I had a bit of a bad rap there, hoped joining the Army would get me away from it."

"Hmm... figured the NKVD wouldn't nab one of the Motherland's soldiers, eh?"

"That, and I also wanted to clear my name a bit."

Sergei nodded some more, and took a bite of bread. Oleg had already finished.

"So, Oleg, you seem silent. What's on your mind?" Ivan directed himself towards the older brother.

"Eating bread."

Ivan seemed to see this as a challenge. "Ah, yes! Bread eating! Nothing greater in the world than a nice slice of bread! Right, Oleg?"

Oleg got up. Ivan's eyesight followed, until he was staring a bit into the clouds.

This Oleg fellow was _tall_, by any man's standards.

"Listen, Ivan," Oleg said, a bit suddenly. "I don't wish to talk at the moment, and wish you'd be quiet before I make you be quiet." He patted Ivan on the helmet. "Understand?"

Oleg stared at Ivan, who offered no response.

"Good. Go away, now."

Ivan promptly did so, forgetting his PPD-40 as he went.

Sergei looked up at his now standing brother, then to Ivan, who now sat at a table far away from them.

"Now I know why we don't have any friends, Oleg. You keep scaring them off." Sergei darted off toward Ivan, Mosin-Nagant over his shoulder, bread in one hand, Ivan's PPD in the other.

"We don't need them, Ludmilla," Oleg said, he turned a bit, and looked at his DP Machine gun. "Right, girl?"

No response, predictably.

"I knew you'd understand, Ludmilla." Oleg pulled the machine gun closer. "You only talk when you need to. Not like everybody else, who just talk and talk. You just listen."

...like the sister he never had.

Oleg went back to eating his bread, in the silent conversation between himself and Ludmilla. Her beautiful wood stock, contrasting with that long, slender, steel barrel.

She was the Perfect Girl, in Oleg's Mind. No woman could ever match her...

Oleg smacked himself on the forehead. One does _not_ talk about his sister this way.

---Kiel, Germany, 11th December, 1940---

The 9th Mechanized was treated to the ever humorous sight of Fredrick Adler, the sargent of Group Bergmann's Squad B, ran full steam ahead down the ramp of the ship.

"Oh, god! Snow! I've never been so glad to see this stuff since... ever!" Adler called out, tripping (perhaps intentionally) on something, and he went gliding to land in the the soft, white stuff that now lightly covered the ground and docks.

The 9th was even further treated to Adler underestimating his own momentum, and flying off the dock and into the water in the Baltic Sea.

Swimming in December was something one really didn't want to do in the cold waters of the Baltic, as the sargent flung himself over the side, and into the water. A highly-audible splash was heard, followed by the laughs of most of the 9th, save for a particular sniper (you know who she is).

The Austrian sargent, swearing as he went, swam over to a ladder out of the water.

"Yeah, yeah. Real funny. I'm going to get hypothermia, oh how funny," Adler said, climbing up the ladder, voice dripping with both disdain and sarcasm.

Peter walked over to the ladder, still chuckling. "Sorry, Fritz," he said, knowing it didn't sound truthful, "But, when you see your sargent acting like that, and tossing himself in the Baltic..."

Adler grabbed Peter by the leg, and pulled him off the dock, uttering something akin to "taking you down with me," or something to that effect.

Again, most of the 9th laughed, minus Marina, and now Captain von Groebel. Having a soaked sargent was semi-fine (He knew he had a towel available), but he didn't know if he could get shelter for _two_ wet soldiers.

Oddly enough, a logistics problem.

Which meant, tonight, the 9th stayed in a hotel.

Perhaps, an upside to a pair of potentially-hypothermic soldiers?

_---End Chapter 16---_

_Adler hates me now._

_But, then again, it's pretty damn fun tossing him into the Baltic. I think I could toss anyone into the Baltic like I did Adler, and play it for laughs. (Just because real war is hell, doesn't mean it can't have it's moments [Shooter, by Jack Coughlin, USMC, for instance, has "Officer Bob." He does some awful stupid stuff, some of which happens to be funny.])_


	17. Unspeakable

_This is the chapter where, pardon my language, shit is going to hit the fan about Alicia and Adler's relationship (Hint: It's not what you think it is. That is one rule I intend not to break)._

_Also, many thanks to those of you who have left reviews. You have no idea how much this encourages me to write on, knowing what people like and dislike._

_Though, apologies go out to Mr. Wang. The conversations between Adler and Peter, while entertaining, were not permanent._

---Kiel, Germany, 2030 hours, 24th December, 1940---

Alicia was having a case of deja-vu.

About a year ago, in Munich, Sargent (then Senior Rifleman) Adler had presented her with a verbal invitation to a Christmas party. She had accepted, and this probably was a low point in her self-opinion.

Now, a year later, in the port town of Kiel, having gotten a few weeks off in the aftermath of Sea Lion's success, the more definite details of the memories had been recalled into her mind, fueled by rumors of her alleged actions with Squad C's assault men.

This, coupled with a bout she'd had with Adler over his obsession over her, left a sour taste in her mouth.

_---Baltic Sea, 4th December, 1940---_

_She'd caught the Austrian sargent red-faced, and red-handed._

_"What are you doing, Adler?" She said, her tone one of anger._

_Adler stuttered. "I-I-I, was just, um, just checking up..."_

_"Checking up on _what_, Sargent?"_

_"You, sargent Melchiott, ma'am."_

_The joys of having a stalker. Adler had been following her since the bout about his inappropriate use of her first name back in London. He'd been trying (and failing) to get back in her good graces, but had seemingly decided that her undivided bad attention was just as good as her undivided good attention._

_"Well, stop checking up on me. I'm fine. Go back to your squad, Adler."_

_"Alicia, please! I..."_

_"Do I need to report you, Adler?"_

_"No, ma'am, but..."_

_"No 'But', Adler. Leave me alone."_

_A visibly despaired look on Adler's face, as he turned to leave Alicia to her own devices._

_"I just wanted to..."_

_"Leave me alone, Adler. That's an _order_."_

_"Yes, ma'am."_

---Present---

"I thought I told you back on the ship, to leave me alone, Adler."

"What? I'm not Fritz!"

Alicia looked over at the person speaking to her, and she smacked her forehead. It was _Peter_ asking her, not Adler.

"Sorry, Peter."

"What, do me and Fri..." Peter corrected himself, "Sargent Adler sound that much alike?"

"No, it's just..." Alicia spotted a familiar looking head peering around a corner. "Wait a second, Peter."

"What is it?"

"A particular Austrian."

She got up, and stormed over to aforementioned Austrian. Peter spotted him, too, and was a bit confused. He also stayed out of the way.

"Get over here, Adler!" Alicia called to the Austrian. Adler ducked behind the the corner, presumably running. She ran after him, and rounded the corner.

There he was, turning into one of the doors down the hall, the fourth one from the end. She dashed after him, keeping the door in mind. Alicia soon came to the door, and was surprised to find it open. She ran into the room.

The door closed behind her, and Adler came up behind her, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

"I really didn't want to resort to this, Alicia, but I didn't really have a..."

His speech was cut short by his 'captive' sinking her teeth into his hand. The wool glove provided protection against the cold, but her canines found his finger quickly. He let out a cry of pain, and was rewarded for his attempts by having his foot crushed by Alicia's boot.

He was reaching for the Walther P38 on his belt, but she brought her hand across his face before he could act, knocking him down.

"Damnit, Alicia, you should have just cooperated!"

Adler pulled the knife off his belt, and lunged at her, though she dodged it fairly easily. The knife was lodged in a wall, and Alicia grabbed the hand that went with it.

"What the _hell_ are you doing, Adler?!"

His response was a kick that knocked her off her feet.

"It's simple; this..."

He rolled the disorientated Gallian on to her stomach, and produced a small length of rope. He began binding her hands.

"Hel...!"

"Oh, no you don't!" he said, stuffing a gag in her mouth.

---Elsewhere---

"Hel...!"

Welkin knew this voice.

"Alicia? Alicia!"

The two other officers, Bergmann and von Groebel, had also heard this voice, and knew the woman who had produced this yelp to only attempt to call out if she really needed it.

The three of them ran in the direction the yelp had came from. They came to Peter.

"Peter!" Welkin started, abandoning normal protocol, "have you seen Alicia?"

"Yeah..." he pointed to a hallway. "She went that way, after Fritz."

"Thanks, Peter." Welkin dashed down the hallway. Most of the doors were open.

All but the fourth from the end...

---Fourth room from the End---

"Don't worry, Ali. This won't hurt _too_ much..."

The Austrian had already mostly undone the uniform coat and the shirt beneath it, exposing much of her upper half to the cold air. His intent was clear...

"Sargent Adler, open this door!"

The look on Adler's face went from one of lust to one of fear. "Uh... Privacy, sir?" He responded to the frantic-sounding voice of Lieutenant Gunther.

A much sterner voice spoke. "Lieutenant, move for a second. Sargent Adler, open this door or risk court-martial!"

Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. He chose not to, returning his mind to his captive...

A breaking sound. Welkin stood looking in anger at the two sargents.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, SARGENT?"

"Sir, she att...!"

"_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"_

Adler had never seen the normally happy Lieutenant like this.

Welkin noticed the half-nakedness of Alicia, then returned his mind to Adler.

Who, as far as Welkin was concerned was going to be a dead man _very, very soon_.

His face red with anger, he lunged for Adler's neck. The two woolen gloves he wore began to crush the Austrian's windpipe, until Bergmann and von Groebel pried him off.

"Enough, Welkin! You needn't kill him; he's going to be very well punished when I'm through with him!" the Captain shouted, pulling with all his ability to get Welkin off the soon-to-be-dishonorably-discharged-Austrian.

"What ever you will do to him, it will not be enough! He deserves no less than _death!_"

"My greatest apologies, Lieutenant..." von Groebel said, bringing his P38 down on the back of Welkin's head, "but that's not your call." von Groebel turned to the tied up Gallian, and set to work undoing the binds, starting with the gag.

"Your boyfriend will be fine." Hans reassured. "And you will never, _ever_, see Adler again so long as you live and breath. Clear?"

Alicia nodded, a bit dumbfounded as to what had just happened. She rubbed off some of the pain from Adler's bindings, then started to attempt at some sort of modesty, redoing the buttons on the shirt and uniform jacket.

"You should have reported his behavior, Alicia."

She looked up at the army captain, and she should have, though the threats seemed to work...

Alicia could see how well that went.

------

Peter looked at Bergmann, leading off what looked to be sargent Adler.

"Fritz, what...?"

"Your friend did something very bad. Something unspeakable. He's going to be kicked out of the army."

"What'd he do?"

"He almost raped sargent Melchiott."

Peter looked at Adler, incapable of comprehending what was going on.

"He... he _what?_"

"You heard me, Sargent Rothchild."

Peter stood there. _Sargent_ Peter Rothchild? This was confusing...

Good thing the drinking age in Germany is 16; Peter could feel that he'd need more than just a little bit of _something_ in order to fully understand what _exactly_ was unfolding in front of him.

---0100 hours, 25th December, 1940---

Well, _this_ was interesting.

The two remaining members of Squad B looked over at what was unfolding in front of them. Squad C, the most brash, unruly, untactful, and just plain rude, were actually apologizing. _Squad C, apologizing_, without any of the officers telling them to.

Peter and Konrad tossed confused looks to each other, then back at Squad C.

"...and, well, uh, Sargent Melchiott, we, collectively, would like to, you know, apologize for our prior actions concerning the rumor about you and last Christmas."

"Which rumor, Steiner?"

"_All_ of them. Even the loaf of bread one."

Alicia nodded to the rather shaky looking acting corporal.

One of the Riflemen popped a question: "Ah, sargent Melchiott, could we buy you a drink or something?"

"No, but thank you, Rifleman Eichel..."

"No, really. In the aftermath of, *_ahem_*, we think we should get you something."

Alicia thought for a second. "Well..."

Squad C perked up to listen.

"You could just buy _yourselves_ a drink; If I wanted something, I'd use my own Reichsmarks."

The squad murmured amongst themselves. "Well, ok. But, really, we feel like we owe you something. Just, let us know if you think of anything." C's sargent turned back to his squad. "Alright, guys, let's go."

Again, Peter and Konrad tossed confused looks at each other.

"You think we've had too much?" Peter asked Konrad.

"Yeah. If we just saw _that_, we've had _waaay_ too much. Goodnight, Peter."

"'Night, Konrad."

The two of them parted for their hotel rooms.

---End Chapter 17---

_Whoa. Action, nearly sexual, and I haven't even got to the Invasion of the Soviet Union yet. Hell, it's not even 194_**1**_ yet!_

_I guess I had Adler get kicked out of the army to 1. Prevent myself from, pardon my language, fucking up things more so than they already are by getting Alica/Adler, and 2. have a revengeful person out to get Alicia, possibly with a "If I can't have her neither can you!" mindset. Certainly would make things interesting when along comes the second battle of Randgriz (Gallia is east of Germany. Make of that what you will, I'm not about to let the Nazis win.)_

_Also, a note on Alicia using Reichsmarks: Think about it; is the **German** military going to pay her in ducats, which is **Gallian **currency, or would they pay her in the money used by their own government, the reichsmark? (which will be bloody useless once the Russians and their Rubles get their mitts on Randgriz and Berlin)_

_Leave a comment, and, subsequently, your nitpicks, criticisms, etc. etc., I live off that stuff._

_No._

_Really. I do. (It goes great with Miracle Whip and mustard, washed down with a Mug root beer.) Criticism and nitpick sandwich on wheat bread! Yum!_


	18. Home

---Bruhl, German-occupied Gallia, 3rd January, 1941---

Home.

For both Alicia and Peter, it brought back memories.

Memories of happiness, of far better times, and of friends, some of whom no longer had to fight for someone else's fatherland.

The two of them figured that this was, in a way, an upside to death.

Other memories returned. The grinding of treads over the countryside, the angry gray of advancing German armor clashing with the oranges and yellows of Autumn, the skies above flooded with the Iron Crosses on the underside of German planes, and the air filled with the scream of Stukas.

A similar sight was seen by the two of them, as the trucks of the 9th Mechanized Infantry, along with cars for the Colonel and Major (von Luck and Varrot, respectively), and the five tanks, the Captain's Edelweiss, the two Panzer IVs used by Bergmann and Welkin, and the pair of Panzer IIIs that Isara and Bieber acted as driver and radio operator (again, respectively) for.

The convoy stopped for the day, and Peter and Alicia got out of the trucks they rode in, just like in France, one for Welkin, and one for 'the other guy', Bergmann.

Peter tossed a depressed look at the area around him; with any luck, 1941 would be a better year than 1940. He'd had someone he'd known for just over ten years get killed right in front of him, and his ex-friend/squad sargent had nearly did the unspeakable to a fellow Bruhler. All in the space of a little over a month.

Alicia looked over the town as well. A man in either a tan uniform or a black coat was on most of the corners, and both had the red armband she'd come to loathe since that SS Major visited her back in the Army Group 'East' field hospital.

The same SS Major who'd been following her since his threat. Since Adler, she'd grown weary of any person who seemed to constantly observe her, though this SS Officer did so for a radically different reason than the Austrian. It didn't make her feel any better, though.

"Alicia?"

She turned to face the direction the voice had come from. Peter, the only other Bruhler who didn't ride in an armored box.

"It _is_ ok to call you that right now, isn't it?"

Alicia nodded. He seemed to be approaching her in kindness, with no other intent.

"Something on your mind, Peter?"

"Yes, two things, actually. The first, and I realize that this is a sore subject, but I still feel guilty."

"What for?"

"Well, I feel that if I hadn't tried to get... erm, you-know-who, to talk to you, we could have averted what he almost did in Kiel."

Alicia nodded a bit, the faint hints of a frown forming. She attempted to come up with a response, but couldn't.

"Though, perhaps he would have eventually tried anyway, or worse, he could have succeeded."

This thought made the two of them tremble.

"What was the other thing, Peter?" Alicia really didn't want to think about what _could_ have happened.

"The second," he began, his tone more joyous, "is, what's it like being a sargent?"

That was right. Peter, in Adler's absence, had been promoted to Sargent.

"Well," Alicia started, entering a state of thought, "it's a bit like..."

"Are you Sargent Adler?" a voice shouted in the distance.

"Sorry, Alicia. I'll have to get back to you." Peter turned to a trio of riflemen down the road a bit, and walked toward them. One of them had the long Panzerbuesche, the other two had a strange looking rifle with no bolt. Possibly the G-40 they'd heard about.

Alica returned to her own thoughts. She figured it for the best that she attempt to distance herself from Squad B.

---Down the road 'a bit', the trio of rifleman---

"Rifleman Werner, Rifleman Abt, and Senior Rifleman Braun, reporting for duty, Sargent Adler, Sir!"

Peter frowned at the trio's use of the Austrian's name.

"First thing's first; My name is Rothchild, not Adler."

"But, it says we are to report to sargent Adler, not Rothchild."

Peter looked at the paper the antitank rifleman held; It was dated for '20th December, 1940.'

"Sir, what happened to sargent Adler?"

Peter looked at this antitankman, Rifleman Werner, and pointed towards Alicia.

"You see her, Rifleman? The last sargent, sargent Adler, got court-martialed because he almost did something very, _very_ bad, something _unspeakable_ to her!" Peter noticed he had raised his voice a bit higher than he'd hoped.

The three riflemen stood silent.

"Am I clear, Rifleman?"

"Yes, sargent Rothchild, sir!" Rifleman Werner took a step back, falling in line with Abt and Braun.

"Good." Peter's voice lowered. "Sorry. Just had to make a point."

"Don't worry about it, Sarge, we're a bit used to it. You could work on not crying, though."

Peter extended a gloved hand to his face; sure enough, he had started crying.

"You knew Adler as a person, I assume."

"Yes, Rifleman. I hope not to make the same mistake again."

"Well, Sargent Rothchild; whatever it was the last guy did, we'll try not to do it."

"You'd better," Peter said, turning to the man, Senior Rifleman Braun, who'd said this. "If I hear a single syllable about you guys attempting to take advantage of one of the many women in Group Gunther; I will not report it. I will _personally put you in the brig myself_. Understood?" Peter felt he was overacting, but he felt it was better safe than sorry.

"Yes, sir!" the three riflemen said in unison.

---South Prussia, Germany---

A car was rolling down the road.

"Hey, you guy's don't mind if I smoke, do you?" the man in the back said. He was obviously a prisoner.

The two SS guards in the front seats tossed humored looks at each other. They figured he didn't have so much as an old butt on him.

"Sure. Smoke 'em if you've got 'em," the driver said. The two of them returned to watching the road.

"Got a light?"

The one in the passenger's seat looked behind him. The prisoner had a cigarette in his mouth.

"Stop the car, Heine!"

The car screeched to a halt. The two SS guards came from the same side, to take the Cigarettes from the prisoner. He wasn't really supposed to have any luxuries (plus, the driver was allergic to the smoke).

As they opened the door, the driver was treated to a swift kick to the gut. The other guard received a fist to the jaw. The two sore they'd handcuffed him, but found one of the Browning Hi-Powers they'd been using turned against them.

The prisoner sized up one of the guards. "You. Give me your clothes and papers.

"Ah... yes, of course..."

He quickly scrambled to get his clothing off, and gave the prisoner his identity cards.

"Here."

"Thanks. You're a pal." The prisoner fired two shots, then another two to get rid of the other guard, who was going for his own pistol.

The prisoner changed into the black SS uniform, and adjusted the hat. He looked into on of the rear-view mirrors.

"Hmm... Perhaps I should have joined the SS... Black's my color."

He swapped the picture in the ID with his own.

"Fredrick Adler from Vienna, Austria? Hmm... Try Heinrich Drechsler, from Brandenburg, Germany." The fugitive chuckled to himself, as he adjusted the uniform's armband, and pulled the hat down to obscure his eyes.

"You're gonna eat your words, Captain," Adler muttered to himself, getting back into the car.

---End Chapter 18?---

_Oh... even more twists! Will Adler get Alicia, or will the 9__th__ prevent the fugitive Austrian from doing any further harm to her? Find out in the near future!_

_ I'll be frank here: Alicia, and really, 9__th__ as a whole, fighting a bit of an enemy within, and potentially Adler going out to turn people who get in his way into coffin-stuffers strikes me as a bit of a spy movie rip-off. (Replace Adler with any double-agent from just about any spy movie made)_

_ Hell, I might even have Adler... (CENSORED!) going (CENSORED CENSORED CEN-SOOORED!)_

_ Ok... I'm enjoying myself waaay to much now._


	19. Amerika

_Historical Note: In real life, Operation Barbarossa didn't commence until June or July._

_H. Note 2: I highly doubt a "General Steven" fought during WWII. If he did, I doubt he was Darscen. _

_Note 3: I've goofed: The 9th is an "Armored Infantry Regiment" (meaning they use both Infantry and a fair amount of tanks), lead by a Colonel. However, I do not find it important enough to go back and revise the past chapters for._

---Randgriz, German Occupied Gallia, 12th April, 1941---

"It will be a pleasure to work with you, Field Marshal von Leeb."

"The feeling is mutual, to all three of you. Jaeger, Gregor, Bles."

The officers gave quick salutes to each other; as did the two German soldiers guarding them. Operation Barbarossa had been stepped up by the German-Imperial joint high command (Italy didn't commit significant troops, and the German-Italian alliance was deteriorating along with the Imperial-Italian one.)

"You are henceforth part of Army Group 'Center-Middle','" von Leeb began, "along with troops from both Germany and occupied territories. The overall goal of our operation, as you have probably been briefed, is the conquest of the Soviet Union. The Joint High Command expects victory to be quick and decisive; Air Force squadrons have been deployed to support our Lightning War strikes into Russian territory, along with at least 3,000,000 troops from the German military, and 2,500,000 from the Imperial. The two groups to the north of us, which you probably would have preferred to be deployed to, are the Imperial Army Groups 'North' and 'Center-North.' The operation will commence on the 1st of May. Are there any questions?"

There were no questions.

"Good," von Leeb said in conclusion, turning to leave. A German officer leaned into von Leeb's ear, and whispered. The Marshal nodded.

"It appears that the Leader and the Emperor want Barbarossa further stepped up. As the Colonel has just informed me, they want the operation to commence on the 24th of April, in order to control as much of the country as possible before the winter sets in. Why doesn't High Command tell me these things earlier?"

von Leeb looked at the Colonel, who shrugged, then two the three Imperial Generals, whose guess was just as good as the Colonel's.

The Field Marshal nodded. "Alright then. Dismissed."

---Washington, D.C., United States of America, April 15th, 1941---

Princess Cordelia (or so the general thought her name was), had essentially become the leader of the Principality of Gallia's government-in-exile, since the Prime Minister, Borg, had become a puppet leader for the Nazi Party.

The princess looked upon the face of this American general. If Roosevelt was correct, this was General Steven, a semi-famous commander of the US Army's first armored corps (before which, he was a cavalryman).

The aged two-star General took his hat off, and bowed. "It is an honor to meet you, Princess. I am General Steven, US Army and..."

"Darscen?"

Steven came up out of his bow. "Well, I _was _going to note that I was going to be part of your personal guard until the Government gets it head out of its, _um..." _Steven stopped himself, blushing a bit. "But, Darscen works too."

Cordelia was a bit confused. The U.S. was either more lenient than the rest of the world, or Steven just that good of a commander, that the higher ups (given he was only a two-star, he had higher ups) looked past the dark blue hair on his head, normally kept covered by the cap he wore.

She'd learned a bit about him, catching up on foreign events before Nazi Germany annexed Gallia after a month and a half of fighting. If she recalled, since she tried to keep up with current events, Steven was quite vocally against the "Darscen Calamity," and could be quoted as saying:

"_I see no difference in a man's ability to serve his nation; to do what other men do; based solely on the color of his hair or skin, or on his religion. To perform intolerable acts upon people for these reasons is unthinkable, and I will personally see to it, that the uncalled for 'retribution' for the so-called 'Darscen Calamity' is repaid in full. Why? Because they have prodded our eyes, many times over; I am fully intent, on prodding their eyes in response._"

This was a little before the end of the last war in 1919, back when he was a Captain. Understandably, the General had taken quite the anti-Imperial stance when the war started, and was pressuring Roosevelt (and failing) to declare war on the Imperials (and the Germans, since he was certain that the Nazis held anti-darscen ideals), so he could "prod back."

A pair of US Army soldiers stood on either side of the General. The butt of their Springfield 1903 rifles clutched tightly in their left hand, and the right snapped into a salute. They relaxed when the general gave the order of "at ease."

Cordelia spoke. "General, while I hope that my stay in your country is pleasant, I also wish it will be short."

Steven nodded. "Of course, Princess." He placed his cap back on his head. "Follow me; your quarters isn't too far from here. After you get settled in, Roosevelt would like to see you." He tried to keep it simple for her; while he didn't think she was stupid, judging from her accent, English wasn't Cordelia's first language.

---Randgriz, German Occupation Zone, April 16th, 1941---

Military inspection by the Leader. Oh boy.

Welkin could feel a cold sweat forming beneath his collar, as he tried his best to stand completely straight and tall. Those who had been in the German army also had trouble; Major Varrot in particular; Since von Luck often busied himself with other parts of the 9th Armored Infantry Regiment, Eleanor was often left in charge of the Companies Captain von Groebel and another Captain also commanded.

The Leader slowly marched by the rows of troops, and stopped when he got to the men and women who made up Group Gunther.

Hitler leaned in closely to the first of Welkin's troops he'd come to. His unfortunate victim happened to be Alicia. She began to feel pressure mount; the Austrian dictator leaned in a bit farther, and Alicia felt a drop of sweat roll down her face.

He went around to the back of her, and was utterly dismayed.

"I hope you fight better than you keep in uniform!" Hitler called out from behind her. She was confused; she had the jacket tight and clean, as well as the pants. What could he be talking about?

"Twin-tails! Twin-tails! Not a single one of these hairstyles are regulation!" He called, now advancing behind the first row of troops.

He came to a full stop when he came to Peter.

"You! You don't even were a _helmet!_ And this... what the _hell is this?!_"

Hitler had come back around to the front.

Peter gulped; he'd been shouted at before (his mind wandered to Lieutenant Drake), but never had he been shouted at by a governmental figure, let alone one with no superiors aside from God (even then, it was ambiguous at best).

"I demand an explanation, Major! Why are your men breaking uniform?"

"Sir, they haven't adjusted to..."

"I don't give a _shit!_ You get them adjusted, as soon as _possible!_"

Eleanor let out a breath. It was far less harsh than she'd envisioned. "Yes, Leader."

"That's _My_ Leader to you!"

With that, Hitler turned for his car.

"I have seen enough; Take away their shawls and ribbons. If they're going to be in the German Army, they need to stop acting like it's the damned Gallian Militia. I will return in a few days to re-inspect. They'd better all have regulation hairstyles, and not a _single_ ponytail or non-uniform cap will be tolerated!"

The Austrian disappeared into the vehicle, and it drove off. A personal escort of troops in pure-black uniforms both followed and lead him.

Varrot turned to the troops of her part of the 9th Armored Infantry. "You heard him; Shawls, ribbons, and the like."

A large horde of collective moans from the Gallians. The Germans gave no comment (except Squad C, but everyone had basically learned to discount them.)

---This Concludes Chapter... WAIT IS THAT A PONYTAIL?---

_I introduced Steven way ahead of schedule. This is mainly because I have been playing a lot of the Axis & Allies (PC RTS version), and I came up with these lines for him:_

"_Having dark hair doesn't make me inferior; It makes _you_ scared!"_

"_A man can fight for his country, no matter his decent."_

"_The atrocities committed against Darscens will be repaid **in full!**"_

"_The point of war is to make your enemy realize where he went wrong!"_

"_Stop clicking on the Corps HQ! Start clicking on some regiments!"_

_I need to make a mod for that game (and possibly Codename: Panzers or something) based of this fic. Obviously, if I make it for A&A, it will focus more so on the Macro of things than inter-character relations. (Which means that you'd never actually see Welkin or Alicia, or even von Luck reporting in. You'd get a generic "Einsatz bereit!" that you'd get for clicking on, for instance, the First Heavy Tank Regiment.)_


	20. Roll Out Again

_Short history of the Darscen Corps (Gen. Steven's crops): Formed in 1932 while Steven was a Brigadier (1-Star General). Made up of people who are either A. Minorities (so, some blacks are in there, too), or B. don't have a problem with either._

---German-Russian border, 25th April, 1941---

Welkin smiled. He smelt a familiar smell, one his nose hadn't picked up since the 'Gallian-German War' that sparked this conflict.

Alicia was making bread, which was aways a good sign.

He took a short walk from the Officer's quarters to the Mess Hall, and poked his head in the door.

"Hmm..." He said, taking a whiff of the air, "Is a certain Lieutenant making bread?"

The only officer's cap in the kitchen turned. Alicia had been promoted since Hitler's visit (neither Welkin nor Alicia could figure out _why_ the Captain had recommended she be promoted, though), and now bore the mark of a Lieutenant.

Alicia offered the Senior Lieutenant some bread, to which he willingly...

"All troops, we have marching orders! To your squads and groups! All officers, report to the Captain's tank to be briefed!"

...grabbed a quick piece. Alicia scrambled for the Panzer II Lynx she used as the requisite command vehicle. She'd seemingly replaced Lieutenant Werner, and had her own two squads, Werner's old squads G and H.

Stuffing the bread into his mouth, Welkin dashed for his own Panzer IV, which was waiting near von Groebel's Edelweiss.

The impatient-looking Captain was leaning out of the top hatch of his tank. "Move it, men! Russia isn't going to invade itself!" He called out, as the men and women of the 9th scrambled to their halftracks. The captain had spotted his three Lieutenants, and shouted down to his radio operator.

"Give me the speaker, corporal!'

"Yes, captain!" The corporal obliged to von Groebel's command, and handed the captain the radio's mic.

"Falcon to Sparrow, read me?"

Bergmann's voice responded. "Sparrow to Falcon, Clear."

"Falcon to Eagle. Read?"

"Eagle to Falcon, clear." The voice of Lieutenant Melchiott called over the radio.

"Falcon to Cuckoo, read me?"

No Response.

"Cuckoo? Are you there? Hey! Welkin!"

"Mmm?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

A gulping sound. "Ah... Cuckoo to Falcon, I read you."

"Ok. Good. All groups, follow me. We brief on the move!"

The tanks of von Groebel's Company rolled out, followed by the halftracks carrying the infantry.

Company von Groebel soon rejoined with the three other companies of the 9th Armored Infantry, bringing the number of tanks eighteen, and the number of infantry to 120, quite small for a regiment. This, of course, discounted the Bengal tigers used by the two Majors and the Colonel.

Alicia looked out through the periscope on the Lynx tank she used.

"Rifleman, give me the radio."

"Yes, Miss Lieutenant."

The Rifleman handed Alicia the radio.

"Eagle to Falcon. You read me, Falcon."

"Falcon. Loud and clear... _particularly_ loud. Turn your mic down!"

Alicia figured she'd blushed a bit, and nodded for her operator to turn the mic down. "Sorry, Falcon."

"You have something, Eagle?"

"Yes. Why did you promote _me_, of all people?"

"Partially due to pity, but mostly because you deserved a promotion anyway. Not everyone can help capture the Prime Minister of Britain. That, and we were short a lieutenant."

Alicia nodded, despite it being useless on a radio. "Ok, Falcon. All I wanted to know. Eagle out."

"Falcon out."

---Meanwhile, in Moscow, Russia---

Once again, Oleg had chased off Ivan Melnikov, and subsequently, his younger brother. He'd gotten fairly used to it. Perhaps, one day, Ivan would get the message.

Sargent Orlov burst into the room. "The Germans and Imperials are Invading! We have marching orders! As of a half-a-hour ago, we are officially At-War with them! Get your guns, Comrades!"

Oleg picked Ludmilla, his DP Machine gun, up off the table, and cradled her in her arms, cooed her a bit, then dashed for the door.

Sergei and Ivan also ran for the door, out to the trucks that would take them to the front.

Ivan spoke, "Hey, Dmitri? When will we be at the front?"

"We'll get to the front in about two days of constant driving, but that'd never happen."

Ivan would have nodded, but he scrambled into the truck with his squad, which also happened to have Sergei and Oleg in it, plus Sargent Orlov and a lancer (the Red Army being users of both lances and antitank rifles, though the Russian lances were more compact).

Oleg hoisted himself up into the truck, and plopped down next to his Nagant-wielding little brother. The truck's motor roared, and the GAZ-AA lurched forward. Oleg grabbed the side of the truck bed with one hand, Ludmilla in the other, and wrapped his arm around Sergei, who grabbed a member of a different squad by the belt.

The Vodniks were going to war.

---OH****OH****OH**** GET GOING IT'S THE END OF CHAPTER 20!---

_This will be exciting._

_A note about Alicia becoming Leutnant Melchiott: this is my way of saying "I'm Sorry" about a few chapters ago, when Adler tried to... well, if you don't know, why the hell are you on chapter 20? Hence, why Hauptmann von Groebel said he promoted her due in part to pity... it was the best way he could think of to make it up to her (which shows just how damn creative he is.) That, and the company's been out a Leutnant for a while now (Welkin and Bergmann, to clarify, are "Oberleutnants," while Varrot is just a Major. Same in German as it is in English, so she doesn't get a fancy term either way, so I somewhat feel sorry for her. Hell, even General Steven from the United States Army gets "Major General/General, Two-star!")_

_I'm officially trying to mod Axis & Allies. For a while, Axis & Allies: The Untold Story of WWII will be just a pipe dream. (I'm split as to giving Damon "V-Weapons," [Call down V-1 Rockets to destroy units in an area) "Carpet Bombing," (V-Weapons, but with bombers) or "Blitzkrieg" (tanks move faster, and have more health and firepower). Generals such as Selvaria, Jaeger and Gregor will receive new abilities (though one of them will end up with "Carpet Bombing"), while the only new US General, Steven, is getting "Mechanized Advance" (Blitzkrieg for halftracks) for sure. "Atom Bomb" is way too powerful.)_

_Well, that's that._


	21. First Shots

---Eastern Russia, May 3rd, 1941---

She didn't see herself getting used to this Lynx tank.

The light vehicle rolled forward across the fairly desolate Russian terrain. Her fairly cocky gunner on the 20mm cannon casually rolled one of the rounds in his hand. Alicia was uncomfortable with the High-Explosive round being tossed about like... something that didn't detonate on contact.

"Corporal Schmidt," she started, "please stop that."

"Why, Lieutenant Melchiott? It's not armed until I prime it."

"Still... it's a 20mm cannon round..."

"It also helps me think to toy with something."

Did he really need to toy with something that could blow the tank skyward? "Toy with something... less potentially fatal."

Schmidt placed the 20mm round back on the rack with the other rounds. He then pulled a 7.92 round out of the end of the belt on an MG34.

Well, it was less likely to blow them skyward.

Alicia peered through the periscope on the tank's small cupola, to attempt to take her mind off the Gunner/Radio Operator that was just as likely to kill her as any Russian, though he'd probably do it by accident.

The tank's diver down in the hull shouted up. "Lieutenant... Can I call you Alicia for the moment."

She nodded, then realized that this would do no good for a person peering through a slot in the armor. "Sure, Fuchs."

"Ok then, Alicia, what do you make of Russia thus far?"

"It's... different."

"Really? Seems just about the same as the far eastern bits of Gallia to m- HOLY SHIT!"

The small Lynx suddenly swerved as it and the halftrack following it had what appeared to be a cannon round explode near them.

The sudden stop caused Alicia to hit her head on the side of the cupola. The cramped vehicle was enough to nearly give her claustrophobia, but right now was the only thing standing between her, and, as she looked out to look for what had fired at them, a pair of Soviet tanks, a BT-7 and a T-26.

"Load a round, Schmidt!"

The gunner stuffed the 20mm round he'd been toying with into the tank's main gun.

"Which way are they, Lieutenant?"

"Left, not far in the distance." Alicia felt the turret start to rotate upon her saying this.

"How far?"

"I don't know... nine-hundred meters, maybe?"

"seven-two-three meters..." Schmidt corrected, "Off by one-seven-seven, Lieutenant..."

"Just take them out!"

Her gunner nodded in obligation, and pulled the trigger to fire off the small cannon. Alicia nearly hit her head on the cupola's side again when the tank rocked from the gun firing. She quickly came to the conclusion that it would be better for her to lean out of the tank, since she didn't feel like getting a concussion from smacking her head against her own vehicle's turret.

---Ditch, a few meters ahead of the two Soviet tanks---

"What is that crazy German doing?"

Oleg popped his head up above the side of the ditch, to see this crazy German that Sergei spoke off. He and his brother were lying prone, along with Ivan Melnikov, the sargent, Dmitri Orlov, and the squad's lancer.

"Perhaps he's getting some fresh air," Oleg said a bit sarcastically. "That little tank looks pretty cramped."

"But with a pair of our tanks shooting at him?" Sergei was aiming for the German's center of mass with his Nagant. "Wow. Those Germans are dumber than the propaganda made them out to be."

The Mosin-Nagant kicked Sergei back a couple of millimeters when the younger of the two Vodniks pulled the trigger. Oleg leaned Ludmilla over the top of the ditch, and opened up on the German officer. He probably wouldn't hit him, though.

"Did you get him, Sergei?"

"Nope, the dirty German ducked back inside that tank." Sergei turned his back to Oleg. "Hey! Volkov! Can you take that tank out?"

The squad's Lancer spoke up. "I'll try. Remember, these PGR-32's aren't the most accurate things," he was shortly interrupted by the firing of the cannons on the BT-7 and T-26. "Besides, shouldn't I save ammo until-"

A round from the German tank struck the BT-7 in the gun mount, a lucky shot. The light tank was blown into fragments.

Oleg, Sergei, Dmitri, Ivan, and the lancer all turned to look at the remains of the BT.

The damage done did not match up with a 20mm round.

---Alicia's Lynx tank---

Schmidt took his eye off the gun's sight.

"Whoa... Now I see why you didn't want me toying with the 20mm round..." the gunner said, turning to face his tank commander.

She was wiping her forehead, having again struck her head against the cupola, though she preferred having a headache to not having a head n the first place.

"Eagle! Eagle! This is Cuckoo! Are you alright, Eagle?" Welkin's voice came in over the radio.

Schmidt picked up the radio. "This is Eagle. We're fine. A bit of a headache," Schmidt nodded to Alicia jestingly, "but we're fi-..."

Another 45mm round detonated, this time, way too close to the tank for comfort, rocking the vehicle more than the gun could. Alicia gain smacked he head into the cupola. She was going to get brain damage if this kept up.

"Fuchs, get us out of here!" Alicia called to the driver.

"Got it, miss!" The Lynx's engine roared, it lurched forward, and suddenly dropped down with a clunk onto the side the 45mm round had landed near.

The road wheels had broke. Alicia officially _hated_ this tank, and wasn't about to let it be a steel coffin for her. She pushed the Cupola back open, and grabbed her MP40, and a strange sword issued to her personally by Hitler himself.

She figured it was for cosmetic reasons, so she held no intention of using it (and Welkin had already convinced the Captain not to have her use it anyway.) Squad "H" was leaning against the Hanomag they had been riding in, the engine having been destroyed by the first round fired at them.

"What happened to Squad G?"

"_What_ Squad G? The Ivans took them out a short while ago."

So that's what Russians were from henceforth. Alicia sore under her breath. Squad G had the only Antitank Rifleman, and she didn't know if the Lynx could get lucky with the 20mm gun again. Fuchs and Schmidt had apparently decided to ditch the tank, having there own submachine guns on hand as they left the disabled tank. Not a moment too soon, either, shortly after Fuchs had leaped clear, a 45mm round struck the tank, and the vehicle ceased to exist.

Alicia turned to the Squad H sargent, who'd managed to retain his K98. "You guys have a radio, right?"

"_Had_ a radio. We have an operator, but no radio."

Alicia became frustrated. "Well, that's really damned useful." She could see that Squad H's sargent agreed with her.

"Never caught your name, Lieutenant."

Well, if she was going out, she'd better know who she was going out next to. "Melchiott. You?"

"Senior Sargent Herzog, Group Melchiott." The two chuckled; of course he belonged to group Melchiott. "Hey... Melchiott. You mean Squad D's sargent Melchiott?"

"The one and only."

"Squad C said something about you and Hans the pig-thingy, Christmas before..."

She tossed a unamused look at Herzog.

"... never mind. This is Squad C I'm talking about."

She nodded. "Damn straight, that was Squad C." Sure, they'd apologized, but that did nothing about before hand.

---Group "Gunther"---

"Cuckoo? Cuckoo, you read? Cuckoo!"

Welkin couldn't quite grasp what he'd seen through the periscope.

"Cuckoo, Respond! Damn it, Gunther, respond! Answer me!"

"Cuckoo here..."

Cuckoo isn't here. Captain von Grobel spoke over the radio, but Welkin didn't catch what his superior was saying.

"...Hey? You paying attention, Cuckoo?"

Welkin shook himself back to his senses. "Ah... yes, Captain."

"Then take out whatever knocked Eagle out before it troubles anyone else."

Welkin felt a bit of anger overtake him. "Yes, sir," he said, in a gruffer voice than he normally used. He turned to the rest of the tank crew. "You heard him. Let's go knock those Reds out of action."

The Panzer IV turned away from the rest of the Regiment, and sped up as best as it could. The two halftracks carrying Welkin's three squads of infantry followed him.

---End Chapter 21---

_I'm starting to consider bumping this up to an "M" rating. While I've abstained (mostly) from simply carpet bombing you with my more 'fruity' language (in both English and German. I think I've only had characters use profanity quite sparingly), I think I may abandon that by the time Citadel or North Africa rolls along (it is quite plausible that I split up the regiment). That, coupled with *ahem*, and the fact that I'm becoming a bit more graphic in my descriptions (I think), it might not be a bad idea._

_Also, a note on Peter's current absence: I'm not telling the story from group Bergmann's POV, for the time being I will split my attention between groups Melchiott and Gunther. I'll admit; Group Melchiott sounds a hell of a whole lot better than the last guy who commanded it (Klaus Werner, the one actual Nazi besides Hitler and any member of the SS.)_


	22. Pervitin

_I goofed last chapter. I meant Western Russia, over by Belarus and all those little states (Lithuania, Estonia, etc.). Sorry for any confusion I may have caused. (*smacks self on forehead*)_

_Note: I do not encourage the use of drugs such as Pervitin. It is simply plausible that the Wehrmacht would want the groups to be more-than-fully aware, and they DID use Pervitin during WWII._

_Note 2: More German this chapter._

---9th Armored Infantry Regiment Field HQ, Western Russia, 2300 Hours, 10th May, 1941---

The burning remains of a pair of Russian tanks. The mangled bodies of about two squads of Russian soldiers, and a third squad who had gotten away.

Welkin's thoughts of a few days prior had brought him to tears. He couldn't stand Alicia being amongst the first casualties of both the German army and the 9th Armored Infantry.

Disregard what the captain said; he would see to it that the Red Army paid dearly for this. Even if they had gotten a few days respite, he felt he had some sort of obligation to Alicia, even if he hadn't explicitly made it.

His eyes were heavy; it was late, and he hadn't really slept since the 2nd, give or take a few hours. The Gallian Lieutenant fell asleep, and dreamed...

_---Bruhl, Principality of Gallia, Winter, 1959---_

_ Welkin watched as his daughter, age 10, played outside in the snow. She was still fairly innocent, and only knew little about her father's true role in the Second World War. Her mother, Alicia, occupied herself with chores, and Welkin figured he'd help her. A loud rattling sound from the kitchen..._

_ He went into the kitchen, and saw his wife sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood. Standing above her body, a Russian soldier, with a sadistic smile. Blood stained the white colors of his uniform, and was splashed across his face and helmet, along with the blood-covered submachine gun in his hands._

_ The soldier spoke with a deep, angry voice. "Go back to Berlin, Dirty German," he started, pointing his gun at Welkin, "or better yet, go to hell!"_

_ Welkin heard a quick succession of pops outside, and went to run._

_ "Face your death like a man, you cowardly Fascist!" the Russian called out, firing his PPD at Welkin. In his dying breaths, Welkin saw a boy in a corner, with a strange typewriter. The boy called to him..._

_ "Lieutenant Gunther! Hey! Wake Up!"_

---0100 Hours---

"Hey! Get up, Gunther!"

Lieutenant Bergmann stood above Welkin, shaking him.

"Ok... ok, I'm up."

"Good. On your feet, Captain wants to see you."

Welkin stretched a bit, and the older Bergmann pulled him up.

"Sleep well?" Bergmann's gruff voice almost barked out at him.

"Sure..."

"Good. Come on."

Still somewhat drowsy, Welkin walked along behind Bergmann. It was still fairly dark out.

"How long was I out?"

"Two, perhaps two and a half, hours. The Captain has something that'll help wake you up."

"It'll take a lot of coffee to wake me up, Franz."

Bergmann tossed a look at Welkin. "Then it's a damn good thing this stuff isn't coffee."

Welkin became curious. What could wake him up more than coffee?

"We'll get you some Pervitin, Welkin. That'll wake you right up."

---4th Infantry Regiment, Remains of Group Melchiott---

Alicia felt more alert, as did the rest of her squad. Some sort of drug that one of the 4th's lieutenants had given her. A strange pill that was also apparently issued to the rest of the 4th.

Not only that, but she didn't even feel sleepy.

Her gunner and driver felt about the same way.

The expanses of the wasteland she'd lost her tank in had long since given way to forest, and thus lots of hiding places for Russian infantry.

The sargent from Squad H, along with the four others, had traded in their K98's for G40 semi-auto rifles. Alicia, her gunner Schmidt, and her driver Fuchs, both kept their MP40's ready.

It was fairly boring. Schmidt decided to start a conversation.

"So, Lieutenant, how do you think Gunther's holding up?"

"Welkin or Isara?"

"Uh... the Lieutenant."

Alicia chuckled a bit. She tried to keep herself from just giggling like a schoolgirl as she'd done earlier. "Welkin's probably fine, crashed out in a cot somewhere, with the rest of the 9th, don't you think, Schmidt?"

The corporal nodded. "Yeah. But why would he be resting, eh?"

"I don't know, Faldio said that whatever it is keeping us up was normally only given to Infantry."

The younger Fuchs spoke up. "The 9th's got infantry. Maybe the captain nicked some of that Pervitin off someone."

---Russian POV, some shrubs---

Sergei looked out at the squad of Germans, plus about three officers. There were far to many, his bolt action Nagant would be out gunned by the strange rifles that the squad behind the three officers had.

Rather than risk it, Sergei looked over to were Oleg and his DP machine gun were. Next to him, Ivan was taking the safety off on his reissued Pa-pasha (PPSh-41).

A light click. A German, the female Lieutenant, heard it. She shouldered her submachine gun, and walked over to the bush that concealed Sergei and Ivan.

"Leutnant... was ist los?" the youngest looking officer asked.

"Shh... spreckt nicht, Schuetze. Unteroffizier, kommen sie hier."

"Ja, Melchiott."

Sergei found himself looking the 'leutnant' right square in the eyes. In fact, he found himself getting lost in them, she seemed so...

"Zwei Iwane," she said, having spotted the two of them. She cleared her throat, and spoke in broken Russian.

"Russians, come out, hands up."

Sergei wasn't about to surrender to some damned German bitch, no matter how beautiful she may be. He swung his Mosin-Nagant at he legs, knocking her off her feet.

"Run! Oleg, run!"

The older Vodnik did so, also wildly firing his DP at the Germans. To his dismay, he only struck one, on the arm.

"Scheisse... Gott verdammen sie, Iwan!" one of them called out.

The three Russians made a break for it. The Germans, minus the leutnant and the rifleman struck in the arm, fired at them. Fortunately, none of them hit.

Sergei and Ivan took refuge in a hole. Oleg soon joined them. They could hear the Germans running up behind them.

"Kommen sie raus!"

"Wo sind sie, Iwan?"

---German POV---

"Where are you, Ivan?"

Fuchs swung his MP40 around looking for the Russians.

"Oh, come on. Come out. We just want to talk to you!"

"Come on out, you Russian sons of... _yaawn..._"

Alicia had yawned, which meant that the Pervitin was wearing off.

"Hey, Lieutenant, want another dose?" Schmidt asked her.

"No, no, I'm (yawn) fine. But thank you."

The sub-officer shrugged, and turned to face his lieutenant. She was starting to look tired.

_Very_ tired. Schmidt pulled a couple of the pills out the bottle in his jacket's pocket.

"Hey, Alicia!"

"Yea..."

The sub-officer shoved the pills into her mouth. She swallowed.

"Sorry about that, but we have to keep you alert."

She coughed, gagged, then giggled a bit. It still felt a bit odd getting hopped up on whatever it was Pervitin happened to be.

"Careful, Schmidt," sargent Herzog called to him. "I heard Lieutenant Landzatt talking to his Captain about troops using too much of that stuff, then getting knocked out for good. Don't get her too hopped up."

---Company "C," 9th Armored Infantry Regiment---

Welkin was laughing uncontrollably. It was fairly obvious he wasn't used to the drug they had given him.

Bergmann snapped his fingers. "Hey. Gunther. We need you here."

Welkin refocused himself on the older Lieutenant. "Oh... sorry, Bergmann. I feel... odd, I'll say, like..."

"Ahem," von Groebel interrupted Welkin before he could compare his current state to wildlife. "More pressing matters. High command has chosen our company for a night assault on the Russians."

Welkin became angry. He had a very strong dislike of any members of the Red Army, since he held them responsible for killing Alicia.

"Ah-ha... You want back at Ivan, don't you?"

Welkin nodded.

"He took Alicia away, didn't he?"

Welkin nodded again.

"Take something from Ivan, then."

An odd smile stretched across Welkin's face.

---End Chapter 22---

_Ok, now that the 9th is officially hopped up on Pervitin (do some research on that), in an oft-overlooked part of the German military during WWII. Though, I think I may piss you guys off by getting them high in the first place, but the Germans did that in Real Life, so it's not implausible (in fact, the opposite may be true)._

_Leave a review. It's nice to know people's opinions, is all._


	23. Fallen

_Landzatt, Landzaat, Einzats bereit (Alle geshuetze... Feuer Frei!)... meh. To many damned confusing names! Perhaps that's why I gave nigh-all the Germans the same first name (I have a few Hanses in there)... So I could remember their last one!_

_Greatly considering the M rating, now..._

---Russian 10th Mechanized Infantry Division, 27 km west of Leningrad, June 3rd, 1941---

What a coincidence.

The two Vodnik brothers, plus Ivan, Sargent Dmitri Orlov and Demyan Volkov, the squad's PGR32 wielding Lancer.

Oleg tossed a quick look to his younger brother.

"Hey, Sergei? Isn't that the German officer we saw a few weeks ago?"

Sergei looked a bit closer. "Why, yes... yes, that's her." He said, quietly, then turned to his friend. "Not going to give us away again with your safety, are you, Melnikov?"

Ivan tossed an unamused look at Sergei. "Ha-ha, Sergei. Very funny." Ivan spoke, though his quiet, yet sarcastic, tone said something quite contrary.

"Pipe down, you two. You'll give us away." Dmitri tossed a slightly angered look at the two youngest members of the squad (and, oddly enough, shortest and most talkative).

The five of them honed their hearing towards the German Lieutenant and her subordinate.

"...aber, Leutnant, ich kann nicht..."

"Ah, Fuchs, warum nicht?"

"Sie sind mein Kommandant! Du bist meine Freundin nicht!"

Sergei turned to Oleg, who shrugged. He turned to Volkov, who also shrugged. Ivan obviously didn't know, but Dmitri did.

"What are they doing, Comrade Sargent?" The youngest Vodnik asked.

"Foreplay," was Dmitri's response.

Sergei turned back to the two Germans.

"Was gibt's, Fuchs?"

"Wuerde Welkin deiser moeg..."

Sergei's eye's opened wide, as did Ivan's. The two of them tossed mischievous looks at each other. It was fairly obvious what was going to happen, so the two of them settled down.

The other three members of the squad felt otherwise, and picked up their weapons.

"Come on, you two!" Orlov motioned for them to follow.

"You guys go ahead, we'll catch up," Ivan said in response.

Ivan and Sergei received sharp thwacks on the back of the head.

"Get your heads out of the gutter and back in the game! We have more pressing matters than watching two enemy soldiers fornicate, and make another enemy soldier!" The voice belonged to Oleg.

The two younger members tossed slightly depressed looks at each other and the two Germans, who were still unaware of the squad's presence (either that, or ignoring it).

"Fine." Sergei picked up his Nagant, and Ivan, his Papasha.

The five Russians left their enemy to do as their enemy did; Were there are two Germans, near by, there are forty. It was their job to find the forty.

Sergei looked back, and caught the last bits of the conversation between the two Germans.

"Alicia... Ich... du... ah..."

"Shh... sprecht nicht, Jonas. Deise sollt gut fruehlen, kleines Junge..."

"Mein Gott... Alicia..."

"Sergei! Come on!" Oleg pulled his younger brother along. "We have vastly more pressing matters!"

Sergei followed his brother, and the rest of the squad, unwillingly. His squad probably now took him and Ivan for a pair of voyeuristic, perverted bastards.

The squad trekked on for a short while, five minutes at the most. Sergei thought back. The two Germans were probably doing 'that' right now. He smacked himself on the forehead. If he was to think about that, he'd think about it tonight, not with a crapload of Germans in front of him.

Oleg turned to his younger brother. "Hey, Sergei. Radio."

"Yeah, sure thing, Oleg." Sergei gave the radio he'd been carrying to his older brother.

"Here you are, Dmitri."

Dmitri nodded to the machine gunner, put on the headset, and nodded. Oleg tuned it to the Katyusha Rocket Battery's channel.

"This is Bear to Fox. Come in Fox. Do you read me?"

A young-sounding voice. "This is Fox. I read you clearly. Why are you whispering?"

"Not important, we have a target."

A short stint of silence. "Ok," said the young man on the other end. "What's the target."

"A German infantry regiment, at coordinates Oh-Five-Zero-N, Seven-Two-Niner-E. You copy?"

"Affirmative, Bear. We copy. Just sit back and watch the fireworks."

"Ok. Bear out."

"Fox out."

Silence, minus some Germans conversing. Having nothing better to do till the Katyushas hit, they decided to figure out what the Germans were going to die doing.

Sergei spotted himself a nice pair; an Infantry Lieutenant, and a Tank crewman (oddly enough).

"Oberleutnant Landzaat! Ich muss sprecken mit sie?"

"Ja, Unteroffizier Schmidt?"

"Hat sie leutnant Melchiott und Schuetze Fuchs sehen?"

"Nein. Sie?"

"Warum denken sie, Ich abgefragt sie?"

'Oberleutnant Landzaat' nodded.

In the distance, a moaning sound. Not of two people in pleasure (as Sergei would have preferred), but...

"Stalinorgel! Stalinorgel! Alle sie, in Deckung!"

...of a Katyusha Rocket Launcher. White trails from the rocket motors came in the distance, from Leningrad, and the German soldiers scrambled. The five Russians took the confusion to their advantage.

"Go get them, Oleg!" Orlov shouted. The older Vodnik lifted himself off the ground, held Ludmilla at his waist, and opened up on the Germans. "Hey, dip-shits. Don't just sit there on your ass, get some Germans!" Orlov shouted at the other three.

The five of them laid down considerable fire, the fragmentation rounds from the PGR32 knocking out many of the confused invaders. Orlov's PPSh-41, and Ivan's too, both rattled alongside Oleg and Ludmilla.

A strange, sadistic smile spread out across Oleg's face. His machine gun rattled at the Germans, and he was easily cutting down the better part of them. The smile turned into a full-blown grin, as, from beneath his combat helmet, Oleg shouted:

"Cry some more, you fascist pigs! CRY! CRY! HAHAhaha!"

---German POV---

"Плачет еще некоторые, вы фашистские свиньи! ВЫКРИК! ВЫКРИК! HAHAhaha!"

Faldio made a dash for the best resemblance of cover, a Kruebelwagen. Alicia's radio operator, Schmidt, followed, but he (like the better part of Group Landzaat) was torn apart by the Russian's lead blanket

One of the SMG-toting Russians called out. "Пойдите назад к вашей собственной стране, немецким сволочам!"

Faldio pulled out the standard-issue Walther P38, and fired at the single Russian rifleman. Marksmanship seemed to pay off; He struck the Russian just below the helmet, right between the eyes.

"Сергей!" The machine gunner called out. Faldio soon figured out he had just done vastly more harm than good; The gunner's fury was directed toward him, as a storm of 7.62 ammunition was unleashed at him. "YE-aaaaaah!" the gunner yelled out, as he turned the Gallian lieutenant into a Hamburger.

"Ракеты почти здесь! Назад покрыть!" The apparent leader called out. "Su lang, yah durrty Juhrrmen schvein!" he yelled, his accent predictably terrible.

The four remaining Russians dashed back into the bushes; less than a second afterward, down came the Katyusha rockets.

---Russian POV---

In the bushes, Oleg looked at his brother's corpse. A rocket came down, and the late Sergei Vodnik was blown to bits. The helmet on the 18-year-old's head landed at his brother's feet, now battered from shrapnel and dented from stones pummeling it.

"Sergei.." Oleg said quietly; mournfully. Sure, he had his faults, but we all do, do we not? Besides, it was his _brother_ that dirty fascist had killed.

He picked up his brother's helmet, and dusted the tattered piece of steel off, and ran after his squad, though he stopped when he came to a particular pair of Germans.

He looked at them, as they did what comes naturally, and it sickened him. They sat there... potentially making another German who'd live and die for Hitler, not even caring that the man standing there watching them had just slaughtered their platoon. He lined Ludmilla up with the moaning pair, and pulled the trigger.

_Click_. The machine gun's hammer felt upon an empty chamber; his rampage had depleted the magazine. Predictably, the two Germans didn't notice him, nor did they notice Ivan, Dmitri, and Demyan.

This was the first time the squad had gotten prisoners of war with their pants down in a literal sense.

---END CHAPTER 23---

_You know what... if you go berserk for the heavily implied Alicia/Fuchs (Pervitin or no, that is no excuse), I don't blame you. And henceforth, I won't warn about German language content. If the POV is Russian, American, French, Italian, British, or any nation that doesn't speak German, and is fighting Germans, just assume that HERE BE GERMAN._

_Review, and beat me over the head with blunt and/or sharp objects for even more Canon Defilement. But, either way, it's rated M now._

_(Damn, I'm gutter minded.)_


	24. Prisoners

_Go to Wikipedia. Type "Pervitin" into the search bar. Note what it redirects to._

_Yep. Meth. Which the Germans actually used during WWII, but still feel free to pound on me like I'm an anvil for it. In a way, I don't blame you._

---Eastern Gallia, German Occupation Zone, June 10th, 1941---

Briefing of the Battleplan for the Battle of Leningrad was underway. Two Imperial Generals, Selvaria and Jaeger, stood receiving their orders from their commander, General-Field Marshal Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb. The three of them, plus a German general, stood around a table, on which was a map of the Soviet city of Leningrad (St. Petersburg).

"...at which point, Bles' 3rd Brigade, alongside Jaeger's 5th corps, and my own 9th Armored Infantry, 11th Tank, and 4th Infantry regiments, will advance on Leningrad. The advantage of two Valkyria..."

"One Valkyria, General-field marshal."

Von Leeb looked up at the German general who had corrected him.

"One Valkyria, general? What happened to Lieutenant Melchiott?"

"She is was captured by the Russians, if our spy network is correct, General-field marshal."

Marshal von Leeb became visibly angered. He pounded his fist against the table in front of him

"How the _fuck_ did this happen? I demand to know, general!"

The two Imperial generals looked at the German general, who broke into a cold sweat.

"Ah... she, and one of her men, were captured..." he gulped, "while... erm... under the effects of Pervitin..."

The other three officers looked at him, silently ushering him on.

"You know the supposed hypersexuality sometimes reported, sir?"

Von Leeb facepalmed.

"Need I go on, sir?"

"No, general, that is enough." Von Leeb let out a sigh; his plan hinged upon having both Bles and Melchiott on the front at Leningrad. He turned back to the general. "Does intel know where she is?"

"Yes, oddly enough; reports are that she's been taken into the heart of Leningrad, possibly for interrogation. But, with Russians being Russians, they could have exploited that particular effect."

A strange silence.

"Parachute Riflemen."

The other three officers looked at him.

"I'll get Airborne troops to get Melchiott out, and establish a foothold in the city. It should work, and will also allow for more troops in Leningrad... get commander Student on the line!"

---Leningrad, Russian 10th Mechanized Infantry/24th Tank division HQ---

Agh. Guard duty. One of the few things Ivan and Oleg had in common.

The others being that they were Russians, fought Germans, ate bread, and hated guard duty.

Ivan leaned his head inside the lend-lease M3 halftrack. Sargent Orlov had taught him a bit of German, enough to ask if the prisoners were hungry, thirsty, or tired, and enough to say "yes," "no," or "too damn bad," depending on the situation.

He shouted to the two Germans. "Wie sind sie?" He figured it was botched, but he didn't care.

"Ich habe hunger, und durst."

"Siene freundin?"

"Mehr Pervitin?"

"Nein. Wir haben Wasser, und Brot. Das ist alle."

The female lieutenant yawned. She'd come down off her high, apparently.

Ivan tossed two pieces of bread in, offered his canteen, then turned to Oleg, on the other side of the halftrack's door.

"Hey, Oleg. How you holding up?"

The large man tossed an unamused look at the smaller one. "Fine, I guess."

Ivan nodded a bit. "Still a bit sad about Sergei?" Judging from the battered helmet of his younger brother on the ground, probably.

"Oh, _no_, of course not." Oleg had a sense of humor, at least. Albeit a _dry_ sense of humor, but one none the less.

"I would be too, pal." Ivan patted the larger man on the shoulder (well... as close to the shoulder as he could get without standing atop the halftrack, which would be about halfway up the arm), and let his mind wander.

The first thing that came to his mind, was how the two Germans had gotten themselves into the Halftrack in the first place. Ivan felt himself being a bit jealous of the male German; it proved a bet he'd made with a friend in another squad in his favor, that Germans weren't gay (no matter how humorous it would have been, given Der Fuehrer's anti-homosexual opinions).

---German POV---

Alicia had came down, and came down_ hard_. She felt more tired than she'd ever felt prior, but she needed to stay awake, for Jonas' sake.

She thought back a few days; the incident she'd caused that resulted in the two of them getting stuck in a halftrack painted drab green with a red star on it. And, of all the people she could have chosen in that division, her driver.

Alicia rubbed her forehead. She couldn't tell what exactly was going on, possibly an aftereffect of the Pervitin. It had gotten her into this situation, but she knew what could get her out...

But, she just couldn't. The one time she needed it, she couldn't. She couldn't activate.

She listened in on the two Russians guarding her.

The smaller one spoke. "Как вы думаете она получили шпагу?" he asked.

"Я не знаю, я никогда не видел его на любом другие немецкие офицеры. Возможно, там что-то специально о ей?" the larger one replied.

"Возможно. Но, почему только она, и не каждый офицер?"

Big Russian shrugged, then asked Little Russian something. "Немцы очень суеверны, нет они? _ возможно там быть некотор вид сказ котор говорить что-то о ее?"

Little Russian nodded. "Да… да. Вы имеете пункт."

Jonas Fuchs, Alicia's driver, tossed a worried look at her. "You know Russian... what are they saying? They're going to kill us, aren't they?"

She shrugged; in all honesty, she'd picked the little Russian she knew up off the Captain, telling her how to try to get the Russians to surrender.

Which, if these were the same Russians from back in May, didn't work too well. But the possibility of that was astronomical; the Red Army consisted of far more than five or so men.

---9th Armored Infantry Regiment HQ, 50km Southwest of Leningrad---

Welkin would be overjoyed to hear this! Alicia was still alive... albeit in Russian hands, but still alive anyway.

Captain von Groebel even felt _himself_ lightening up after having Eleanor tell him this. Why wouldn't he be? Sure, Welkin fought hard in Alicia's absence, but he wasn't Welkin. He was either brooding over how best to painfully kill Russians (which startled even Corporal Turner, who was a sadist), or sulking over his 'lost' love.

Hans shook a pair of Pervitin capsules out of the bottle and into his hand, and gulped them down. He knew that those pills would be the end of him, one day, hopefully far down the line.

Today was not that day.

Hans began walking about, looking for Lieutenant Gunther. He figured he'd save time and ask around; this SS guy who'd been walking about the company recently, Drechsler, he thought his name was, seemed to be pretty knowledgeable about the members of the Regiment. He also seemed oddly familiar.

"Trooper Drechsler! Come here!"

The man in the black SS uniform obliged; he wasn't actually part of the army (or, technically, the military _at all_), but the rank of "Trooper" was identical to that of "Rifleman," and "Captain" was above both.

"Yes, Sir Captain?"

"You wouldn't happen to know were Lieutenant Gunther is, would you?"

"With that sister of his, doing Leader-knows-what."

"And where is Isara?"

"In the repair tent. Whether or not she's actually repairing is an entirely different matter."

An unamused look from von Groebel, as he headed towards the tent. About halfway there, he started having chest pains; he figured it was nothing, and continued. After walking for a bit, he came to the tent; he felt a bit short on breath, for some reason.

"There you are, Welkin! I wanted to talk to you..."

Welkin and Isara both looked at the Captain. They had worried looks on their faces.

"What seems to be wrong?"

"You look like you've just run the triathlon, sir... could you lift your arms real quick? One of the Medics said something about Pervitin."

Hans tossed his arms into the air.

The German captain collapsed without any degree of warning. Instinctively, both Welkin and Isara called out a word neither liked to hear:

"Medic! We need a medic!"

The two Gunthers dashed over to the captain who now lay on the floor. Soon, _four_ medics, the three from the Former Squad 7, and a German one, arrived.

But, by that time, it was too late. Welkin found himself propelled in to the rank of Captain.

---End Chapter 24---

_ Better safe then sorry concerning ratings. Last thing I want is someone going berserk over a T-rated fic having a strange combination of sex, violence, profanity and drug use. _: | _So yeah._

_ Damn... I think I have to get rid of Jonas Fuchs somehow too. I might be hinting at a non-soldier-to-soldier relationship between him and Alicia, which is, frankly, the last thing I want. (Even if Meth was partially involved.) I won't do something odd like I did with Adler._

_ Also, a Particular Austrian showed up this chapter... Since the 7's/9th are a German unit, does that make anyone fighting them a technical good-guy (if you think about it, I'm telling the story from the POV of Heroic Antagonists.)_


	25. 143rd Time's the Charm

_German Accents incoming... Also, sorry I haven't updated in a while._

---9th Armored Infantry Field HQ, 50km S.W. Of Leningrad, June 20th, 1941---

The Would-Be British Army Lance Corporal sat on the fender of a Krubelwagen.

"I don't like this one bit, Smith," Obergrefreiter Nelson said from beneath the Stahlhelm.

He and Smith had found themselves in an odd predicament: After the German occupation of the British homeland, and the surrender of the British government to the _Reich_, the British Army had been adopted into the German one.

"You'll get used to it," Schuetze Smith said in a far-off tone.

Edward looked in the direction Thomas was looking in. A woman with short black hair, with her bangs over her left eye, was of by herself (well, _mostly_ off by herself. There was this one bloke with spiked hair who seemed to be trying to make her laugh. Neither of them could tell what exactly he was doing, but it wasn't working.)

"A girl you're interested in?"

"You could say that."

Smith slung his modified Lee-Enfield, which now chambered the 7.92mm round the Germans used.

"Ted, leave her alone."

"Aber..."

Thomas tossed an unamused look at Ted.

"Ach... fine..." The scout walked off, defeated (this time, at least).

Marina simply looked at Thomas, then spoke after the British sniper had stood there silently for a good five minutes.

"Vhat do you vant, Thomas?" she asked her British counterpart.

"An apology would be a good place to start, Marina."

She shuffled her feet a bit.

"Fine zhen. Sorry."

Thomas sighed, and the two tossed semi-angry looks at each other before the Brit walked off.

"It vas... 'nice', shpeaking viz you."

Thomas gave no response, as he walked back over to Edward.

"What was that, Tom?"

Thomas gave a fake smile, and said, "Nozhing" with a fake accent.

---Leningrad---

Normally, Dmitri was a pretty nice person. He was considerate, and, unless ordered otherwise, would general place the lives of his soldiers before himself.

Alekzander Vladmirov wasn't so considerate, as he shouted from atop his T-34 down at the lowly squad.

"...you _fucking idiots!_ How do you lose something like a pair of prisoners?"

Demyan spoke. "It's Oleg's fault. He decided to take a leak when they came!"

Alekzander tossed a look at the lancer that greatly implied that he wasn't happy.

"Comrade Lieutenant, please..."

"No, Orlov. They are your men; they were guarding the prisoners, so it is _your_ fault. Go find them, Dmitri!"

The three larger members of the squad gave a quick, unanimous salute. Oleg had to kick Ivan to make him salute, but the PPSh gunner did.

They split up; the division was getting ready for combat; a large German Armored Infantry Regiment, plus a pair of Imperial divisions had been spotted by air getting ready for combat.

Oleg undoubtedly ended up with Ivan. Automatic weapons tended to stay in close proximity to each other (though, the _volume_ of aforementioned automatic weapons might have explained it).

The larger of the two had to keep the smaller quiet; it was hard enough trying to find the German lieutenant and her Corporal with all the clanking of treads, roar of engines, and stomping of boots, so the last thing Oleg needed (and wanted) was a voice constantly yammering from half a meter beside him.

---Washington DC, United States of America---

Steven sat on the front porch of the White House. He'd found that he did this many times over after making an attempt to get Roosevelt to get involved in the war in Europe, but for now it seemed to be called the "European War," and seemed to be staying that way.

"General?"

Steven jumped at the voice; but then calmed down when it turned out to be one of his soldiers in ceremonial dress.

"Sorry, General, sir."

"No, no. It's fine. Really."

Steven returned to his thoughts, and found that the soldier had joined him.

"Something on your mind, Joey?" Steven asked the lieutenant.

"Nothin', sir." 'Joey' had removed his cap, showing off his dark blue hair.

The Darscen Corps had a considerable pride in being made up almost entirely of Darscens and various other minorities. While, by all means, the States and the Army had their fare share of racist bigots, no-one spoke down to someone who wore the armband with Darscen patterns on it, if it bore the words "US Army" on it.

Steven smiled slightly, twiddled his thumbs, and went back inside the White House.

Hundred and forty third time's the charm, as they say.

---End Chapter 25---


	26. Saving Lieutenant Melchiott

---9th Armored Infantry regiment, Leningrad, Leningrad Oblast, Russia, June 23rd, 1941---

Welkin still couldn't wrap his head around it. After von Groebel's death, he'd been thrust into the rank of Captain. It began to seem that, if you really wanted to advance in this army, someone had to get offed.

He now wore the peaked cap of a German captain, rather than the garrison cap he'd worn as a lieutenant. Since Hans (the prior captain, that is) had died attempting to pass good news onto him, he'd had to find out what it was from Major Varrot's mouth.

Back on the 21st, it was easily the best news she'd could have given him.

Alicia was still alive. All he had to do was take Leningrad, and he'd have her back.

High Command, particularly von Leeb, had made this sound like an easy task, but that was also back on the 21st. Welkin had spent two days confined to his tank, firing off 82mm rounds to aid the 75mm and 50mm guns of the Panzer IV and III used by his subordinates. All the while, he kept his eye out the periscope, like a hawk looking for prey, keeping a lookout for Alicia.

The Edelweiss, one of the hundreds produced thus far by the German military, suddenly rocked as a well-hidden T-34 hit the tank with its 76.2mm gun.

"Agh!" Welkin nearly struck his head on the side of the tank's cupola, but caught himself.

As quickly as he could manage, he rotated the Edelweiss' turret to fire on the T34. It stopped a few degrees after he'd began rotating it. The Russian tank had damaged his Panzer V(G)'s turret ring.

"Fall back!" Welkin shouted down to his driver, Kries.

"Yes, sir!" Kries shouted back, as the Panzer V(G) rolled backwards, before stopping suddenly with a loud 'clang', as both Welkin and Kries felt the tank drop onto its side.

"Get out!" was all Welkin could think of ordering. Accordingly, he and Kries did so, the thought of a T-34 still watching over them escaping momentarily.

The Russian tank rolled forward, its two machine guns rattling, though it was saving the cannon rounds for harder targets.

Kries fell, screaming in pain. Welkin instinctively attempted to help him, and pull him to safety behind fallen debris, though the Russian machine that kept rolling up the road prevented him from doing so.

"Leave me!" Kries shouted over his own cries of pain.

"I can't! I don't leave men..."

"Leave me! Just save yourself, Welkin!"

Welkin, realizing that he couldn't try to save them all, rushed behind the fallen wall he wanted to pull Kries behind. Looking around the wall, he could see the green head of hair saying something, possibly praying. He could only watch as the brown treads of the metal monster rolled over poor Kries, prompting the man to give one final call of pain before being little more than a splatter of blood on the machine's left track.

Welkin disappeared behind the wall, hoping the T34 hadn't seen him. Unfortunately, it ground to a halt, and began to rotate its turret towards him, when the machine suddenly exploded, and a trail of smoke was seen. He looked to the other end of the trail, and saw a mighty Imperial Heavy Tank. This was probably the first time he'd been _glad_ to see Imps, as he spotted some Imperial shocktroopers accompanying the large machine.

Slowly, Welkin emerged from the shadow of the ruined wall, raising his hands, to show he had no foul intent to the Imperial troopers.

"Hey... I know him... he's that lieutenant from the German 9th Armored Infantry! Welkin Gunther, Belgen's son!" one of the Shocktroopers said.

Welkin couldn't help but roll his eyes a bit. "That's _captain._ Is that what everyone thinks of me? Just as some Gallian war-hero's son?"

"You know, I always figured he'd be a lot tougher looking," A second one in red said to the first one. "No offense, Lieu- erm, Captain."

"None taken; I just get a bit tired of it after a while, that's all."

One of them, the Tank's commander, threw a rifle, the ever common ZM Kar 2, to Welkin. "It's not as accurate as you're used to, but it should work."

Welkin nodded. "I hope so." He began to look around in places a human could hide in.

"What are you looking for, Captain?"

"One of my lieutenants."

"What's his name?"

"_Her_ name's Alicia Melchiott."

The Imperials quietly spoke amongst each other.

"What's she look... wait, she' the German Army's Valkyria!"

Welkin just about settled his face in his hand at the Shocktrooper's statement. "Yes, that'd be her."

"Ok. So that makes things easier. White hair, red eyes."

"No, brown hair, brown eyes."

The Shocktroopers looked at him. He couldn't see the looks on their faces, but he figured they'd be confused looks.

"Uh... we're not on the same page, are we?"

Welkin shook his head, as he looked into a burnt-out Bakery. "I'm afraid not... Alicia!"

"You found her? So soon?"

"No, but she may have left us a clue." He picked up a paper, with Alicia's headscarf drawn on it. "'Welkin, Go were the Red Flowers grow tall, but the sickle doesn't cut them.' Why is she being so cryptic?"

"Perhaps the Ivans are looking for her, too," the red-colored Imperial said. "Red flowers grow tall... the Red Star they use looks a bit like a flower... I'm thinking about a monument of some sort."

"It could also be a state building of some sort; the Soviets adorn government offices with Red Stars, and hammers-and-sickles, do they not?"

The Imperial Sargent nodded. "Alright, you heard the Captain. Check for any state buildings and monuments. Do not, I repeat, do not destroy them! Don't worry, Captain Gunther, we'll get your lieutenant back!"

Welkin nodded. "Thank you; but now, I need to get back to my men."

"Ok. I could see that. Get more people looking for her. Kinda seems a bit overkill, though."

"Not what I had in mind, Sargent. We still have to capture the city. If we can do that, chances are I could look for Alicia without having to worry about the Russians."

The Imperial nodded. "Right... where is the 9th, anyway?"

"South, I think..."

"No good. We'd have to cut right through the city itself to get there. Captain, you don't mind hanging around some Imps until we get down there, do you?"

"Not at all."

The Imperial Sargent nodded. "Alright. We're moving out." The men gathered around the massive tank, as it began to roll forward once again.

They'd gone a few meters up the road, and the tank was turning when Welkin couldn't resist asking anymore:

"I thought the British found that having more than one turret on tanks was too heavy, and they cut down on armor. Why does the Imperial military still use those designs?"

A scout shrugged. "I don't know... though, I guess it would explain why our tanks are so slow, wouldn't it?"

Welkin nodded.

---Elsewhere in Leningrad, Paratrooper group 'Von Groebel'---

"Lieutenant!"

"Which one?"

"von Groebel!"

From beneath his black helmet, Kurt von Groebel, younger brother of Hans, looked up at the Sub-Officer* who had brought up his name.

"Yes, Dresner?"

"The map says we should be seeing Imperial forces any time now; they're Selvaria's, I think."

Kurt nodded to Dresner. "Good." He turned to Alicia and Jonas, behind him. "Melchiott, Fuchs. You two alright?"

Jonas nodded. "I'll be fine. Just get Al... Lieutenant Melchiott back to Gunther for me."

Alicia held a nicked PPSh-41 and the wounded Jonas. During the raid that got them out of the M3 halftrack at the expense of one and a half of Kurt's squads, Jonas had nearly gotten himself killed to keep his superior alive.

"You'll be fine Jonas. You'll go back to Frankfurt soon enough." Alicia had as much of a smile as she could muster under the circumstances.

Kurt checked out the window of the bombed out government building. The red star, with the hammer knocked off by bombardment a few days prior, still stood. An Imperial medium tank rolled by.

The Paratrooper lieutenant couldn't help but chuckle. "Damn... no wonder they call it the 'Fatherland'... the time I spent in the EEIA, I saw at least half a dozen of those things in a day."

Kurt hopped out of the building, and motioned for his men, plus Alicia and Jonas, to follow him.

The Imperial troops around the Medium tank looked over at the Paratroopers.

"It's them! And her! The German Army's Valkyria!"

Alicia didn't even _use_ her powers and she had a reputation.

"You want to do the talking, or will I?"

She looked up at Kurt von Groebel, and stepped forward. "I'll talk."

Alicia looked upon the ZM Kar 2's and ZM MP 4's held by the Imperials; she could also see underslung grenade launchers on the Kar-2 of a red-colored scout.

"So, you're Lieutenant Melchiott... Huh. The pictures in the papers, with you standing next to Hitler and von Leeb, you always had white hair. I never would have figured you for a brunette." His tone indicated he thought this to be a good thing.

Blushing slightly, Alicia tossed an unamused look at the Imperial scout. She remembered that particular photo op with the Leader, and he actually seemed to be quite lenient towards her own twintails and her trademark headscarf; he practically required that she wear it, though he did attempt to give her a 'Nazified' version. She never wore it, because it looked stupid; it was little more than her current one, but with a black Swastika right in the middle of it.

"Well, not everything is what you'd think it would be..."

"Can you show us your flames?!" an Imperial engineer suddenly blurted.

Alicia settled her face into her hand; behind her, Kurt and Jonas did about the same.

"No!" Alicia and Kurt both said at the same time, though Kurt said it in a vastly more threatening tone.

"Ok... fine, take it easy!"

It was fairly quiet from then on out.

---End Chapter 26---

**Holyshitholyshitholyshit!**

**Happy New Year! You can haz new-years present! Chapter 26 of Battlefield Gallia!**

**I have a reason why I haven't been updating. 1) I recently got VC for Christmas. Tomorrow, I'll probably finish Ghirlandio and set to work on the Marmota and Valkof. 2) Of the five fics in the VC crossover section, four are mine. Red Alert, Moskvin Madness, Red Alert Redux, and Valkyria Fortress. What can I say? VC is goes with everything if you pull it off right!**

**Since I now own VC, you should be seeing more Sevens show up across Groups Bergmann, Melchiott, and the former Group Gunther. Doubleplusgood, isn't it?**

**Kurt von Groebel has a degree of basis on canon... Codename: Panzers canon, that is. Supposedly, some versions of the game would render Hans' brother Walther von Groebel's name as 'Kurt' in the mission he appears in, set during the invasion of Crete. While I do not own such a copy, I decided to use his alternate name 'Kurt' because I couldn't think of any VC chars with the name, and the name Walther was taken by Walther Nash, I believe. I'll check that in game tomorrow.**

**Leave a Review. I always like to hear your qualms. IT FUELS ME! BAHAHAHA!**


	27. Squad E

**Something dawned on me. How am I going to apply Translation Convention to Edward and Thomas? (This is why the Germans and Russians have been 'speaking English'**

---Squad 'E', Leningrad, 24th June, 1941---

"Damn this Fritz piece of...!"

Largo looked over at the 'New Guy', who'd been conscripted into the Wehrmacht post-Sea Lion. He was struggling with the modified T-MAG, which the Germans used akin to the Bren that the Tommy was used to.

Which had also jammed.

Reloading the Panzerbuesche in his hands, Largo simply left Edward alone. Mostly because the Ivans 'down the lane', as the Brit had put it, kept firing their rifles and submachine guns. Most importantly, to Largo at least, a T-26 was parked behind the wall the Russians were using as cover.

"Will that Tommy shut up?" Hannes' voice shouted over the gunfire. The Tommy in question, not knowing German, kept complaining.

"Where's Group Bergmann and that Panzer 4? He and that Panzer 3 should be here by now!" Largo didn't recognize this voice: no doubt it was from one of the other Captains of the 9th.

The anti-tank rifle in his hand jumped, and down range a hole formed in the T-26, and the machine gun stopped firing. While the Panzerbuesche was no Lancaar, it got the job done.

"Tank's down!" Largo shouted as the Russians became more accurate. Perhaps they'd started sending actual troops, rather than the ill-trained Conscripts they'd faced until then.

Hannes again popped over the wall, the MP-40 rattling away, somewhat accurately at the Russians. It was enough to force some heads down, but the squad would have preferred an MG-34.

Hell, even an Imp MG would have worked better than the MP-40.

Largo saw one of the squad's resident Germans fire his G-40 over the wall. A fair amount of the gun's original precursor, the Gallian rifle, was still there. So much so that he often found himself and the various former Scouts calling it the 'German.'

The G-40 in the Rifleman's hands helped Hannes keep the Russians behind the stone about 200 meters out. A fairly long street in a place like Leningrad.

---Edward's POV---

First, he was in the Enemy's army. Second, he was fighting his former allies (though, that was debatable). Though, he had to admit, he'd wanted to visit Saint Petersburg...

A round came a bit to close to him.

...scratch that, _Leningrad_, for quite a while. But he'd have preferred to have someone other than a bunch of lousy Fritzes with him.

"Hey, need help?"

Edward looked over at Karl Landzaat.

"Ah. Finally. Someone who speaks my language."

"Yeah..." Karl grabbed the MG-G36 from Edward's hands, and did something he didn't quite follow, unjamming the gun. "There you are."

Edward nodded. "Thanks, Fritz." Once again, the copied T-MAG in the Brit's hands rattled out ammo. It helped keep the Russians behind cover, but he didn't expect to hit the broadside of a barn with the weapon. For once, he regretted not being a Rifleman.

---Russian POV---

Ivan ducked as the Germans poured ammo onto the concrete wall, cursing at the now-dead tank crew.

His PPSh-41 was useless at this range, with those damned Fascists on the other end of the street.

That dumb bum rush earlier that month... Why exactly had they done that? Sure, they'd managed to capture a German Lieutenant and a subordinate, but they'd escaped in a paratrooper raid that also claimed their lancer.

Damn good thing no Fascist tanks had showed up.

Oleg was a few heads down the line, readying Ludmilla for another shot at suppressing the Germans. He quickly, yet carefully, loaded a new drum magazine into her, cocked it, and leveled it with the German wall. The bullets soon rattled out, and the German guns ducked down, an unfortunate rifleman catching a fair deal of the rounds from the DP machine gun. He was fresh for sure.

Vodnik ducked back down when he saw the unmistakable front end of a Panzer roll into view.

"Everyone! Hold your ground! We must not let the fascists take Leningrad!" one of the higher-ranking sargents called out. Oleg could easily imagine Dmitri, holding a Mosin-Nagant, slugging him later.

"Damn fool... the Germans will let our blood flow through these streets... We must fall back! Leningrad will fall all the quicker if we do not fall back!"

The higher ranking sargent decided Orlov warranted no response, as he fired his own SMG at the tank that had rolled up the road. With any luck, he'd be the first to go.

Aforementioned sargent soon fell to the tank. Dmitri took charge instantly. "Fall back! Everyone! Fall back!" Dmitri saw Ivan and Oleg help him out, pulling their comrades to safety.

The gray monster rolled up the road towards them. "Melnikov! Vodnik! Find a way to stop that thing!"

Accordingly, Ivan and Oleg dashed behind a second wall.

---German POV---

"Squad C! Clear the houses! I don't want any surprises! B! Help C!" Bergmann's voice shouted, as he leaned out of the Panzer 4 to yell orders down on the men rallying between his tank and the Panzer III.

"Hey! Boss!"

Bergmann whipped around, his helmet nearly flying off. "What is it, Sargent Potter?"

Largo looked up at Bergmann. The gray metal helmet he'd retained, plus the goggles he now wore over his eyes, kept him from actually seeing the man's face. "Any idea where Welkin went?"

The German stroked his chin. "No clue... I've tried calling him, but he's not responding. Before he disappeared back on the 22nd, he said something about looking for Melchiott..."

"He went looking for Alicia?"

"Yes. Fairly dumb of him to not even ask for support. He should be in the Imperial sector by now... assuming he's still alive."

Largo nearly punched the tank, but contained himself. "I get that he likes her, but he's basically deserted us. She's basically taken over his mind."

Bergmann muttered something pertaining to the Valkyrur. Largo couldn't make it out, but figured it wasn't important.

"So, what do we do?"

Bergmann thought for a moment. "Rest for a few minutes. I'll radio it to Varrot... damn! That's why we shouldn't become infatuated with our subordinates!"

The German was a good deal older than him, but Largo felt didn't quite get what he was talking about. Bergmann disappeared into the hatch of the Panzer 4.

Largo turned to his weary men. "Alright. We get a few minutes respite. Eat some food, but don't try to sleep. I'm not waking your asses up."

He turned back to Bergmann when he saw the gray helmet reappear out of the hatch.

"So, what did she say?"

"She said to continue on smartly. We've taken most of the city, and the Ivans are hold up in the square. We're letting the Imperials take it, so basically that means we can find a place to set up, and reinforce."

"So, basically, rest?"

"I didn't say that. I said find a place to set up and reinforce. I mean you'll be getting your new lieutenant, and replacements for killed."

Bergmann ordered his tank to drive forward. Largo instantly became curious, as Squad A followed him.

"Where are you going?"

"To look for Gunther. I figure the Imperials have found him and Melchiott by now, and I'm going to make sure personally they both catch hell. I don't like my superiors disappearing."

Largo chuckled a bit as Bergmann disappeared back into the Panzer 4. If the man did anything because, god forbid, he actually cared about someone, he was damn good at hiding it.

---End Chapter 27---

**First update of the new year. Yay!**

**I turned 16 back on 1/5/09, and now the time has come to explain myself a bit.**

**First off, what the _fuck_ was I thinking when I re-rated this M? I if I think about it, I'm not having chars swear, or die, enough to warrant it, and the Alicia/Jonas moment (probably a bit OOC on Alicia's part) officially made this fic as bad as the worse end of PG-13 movies.**

**Be sure to review.**


	28. Squad C

**Over the next few chapters, you will be seeing Squads other than D and B.**

---Leningrad Oblast, 24th June, 1941---

"So, you heard we're getting a new guy?" Steiner said.

Eichel nodded. "Two... Inglebard and Cheslock."

"Inglebard... VYSE Inglebard? You mean, mister Travel-the-damn-world?"

"That would be him."

Steiner whipped around into door, MP40 in hand. "Clear!"

Eichel shook his head. "You know, it's not like the Ivans are going to hide were you can find them, Otto."

Steiner nodded. "Fine then, Etzel." He entered the room, bringing his MP40 to his shoulder.

Otto and Etzel swept the room. Etzel shouted out, "CLEAR!" and turned back to his comrade.

"How do you know Inglebard?"

Steiner thought back for a while. "We ran into each other in Emden a while back. He'd just arrived by ship, and we happened to be eating at the same place. He invited me over to eat with him and this girl, Aika, I think, and we got to talking. He's a decent guy... though, a bit of a challenge lover."

Etzel chuckled. "He'll fit right in."

Steiner nodded in reply, moving on to the next room.

"Damn... I hate it when Bergmann gives us the grunt work," Steiner said, sweeping the room. "I mean... sure, Rothchild is helping us, but damned if he doesn't always call US when he needs a house cleared."

"Well, we ARE an Assault team," Etzel rationalized. "We're like those Shocktroopers the Imperials have."

"Yeah... but we're just five guys with machine-pistols and armored fists." Steiner stopped, and let his MP40 droop to a more relaxed position. "Clear!" he shouted, turning to Etzel. "Speaking of Pete... wonder how he's doing? I mean, what with suddenly being Sargent Rothchild and all."

"And how he got there."

"Yeah."

The two of them stood in silence, minus the two of them both shouting "Clear low."

After a few moments, they heard "Clear high" in response. At which point, the two of them started talking again.

"There's a special place in Hell for people like Adler, Double E."

"Don't call me Double E!" Etzel shouted angrily, disliking the reference to his initials, before gaining a more somber look. "But, I agree with you. And I hope that bastard burns there for eternity."

"He has to die first, though."

They remained silent from then on out, as Squad C gathered in what looked to be the family room.

There, they saw the other two members of C. Normally, they had five, but having six would be something.

"You two find anything good?" Faust said.

"Nope. Not hide nor hair of those damn Ivans," Otto replied.

"Not what I meant."

Both Otto and Etzel were slightly confused, until, about half a second later, it donned on them that Faust originated the better part of Ted's dirty jokes.

"No. We weren't looking for that shit, pervert."

Kristof Faust made it look like he took offense, but the tone when he said "Guys, I thought we knew each other better than that," said otherwise.

The fourth member, Squad C's sargent, spoke. "Alright, punks. Enough." The three of them looked over at C's oldest, and (minus Bergmann) most experienced trooper. This, of course, referred to Eugen Vogel.

"Whatever, Prince," Steiner said, prompting an amused look from the sargent.

Vogel patted Steiner's helmet. "Now, if only you used your creativity with making up ways to keep us from getting all the grunt work..."

Otto shrugged. "Sorry, Prince. Not my bit."

Having cleared the building, the four of them left.

---Russian POV---

Hearing the Fascists leave, Oleg resurfaced from beneath a trap door, hidden with a rug. He turned to Ivan, and waved for him to follow.

The young Papasha gunner did not comply.

Grumbling to himself, he walked over, tapped his young comrade on the helmet, and looked at the man's face.

It closely resembled one of a child that was a bit of a sloppy eater, though he'd somehow manged to keep his uniform clean.

Oleg grabbed the item which Ivan was eating, and looked down on it. It was some kind of cheese, which Oleg somewhat detested (though he hurriedly shoved it in his mouth anyway. He hadn't eaten anything but semi-stale bread since he'd been drafted, and any change was good change). He wiped any remaining pieces off with his thumb, and brushed it on his sock (since Ivan would never look on his sock).

Taking the lead once again, Oleg opened the trap door as quietly as he could, and peered out to make sure no dirty Fascists could see them.

Hurriedly, he opened it enough to get himself and Ludmilla out; and left it open for Ivan to follow, leaving the younger of the two to close the door.

Oleg couldn't help but wince as he heard the door slam. He looked back over at Melnikov, knowing the man had just given them away.

"Damn it, Ivan!" Oleg said, hoisting the cheese-plastered face up to his own. Incapible of taking anyone who had their snack as much on their face as in their stomach seriously, Oleg wiped the remaining curds off Ivan's face, once again wiping it on his sock.

"Was ist los?"

Oleg quickly readied Ludmilla, clicking her safety off. He peered around the the corner to see a trio of Fascist Soldiers, all three Submachine Gunners.

"Ach... Otto, du..."

The three Germans looked down, seeing a Russian grenade roll over to them.

"Fick mich...." one of them said, as the grenade reached the end of its fuse, blowing the trio of Fascists to hell, causing a coat of blood to stain the walls and Ivan's face and helmet.

A smug look on his face, Oleg looked down at the blast damage the grenade had done, reaching down with his hand, and getting some blood on it. He figured, since the Germans would rush in any second, he might as well have some warpaint. _And no better warpaint_, Oleg figured,_ than the blood of your enemies._

As he figured, more Fascists rushed in. The armbands they wore were originally blue and white, a possible indication of national origin. They were quickly dyed red, Soviet bullets not knowing the difference between one Fascist and the other.

Ivan watched as the DP machine gun in Oleg's hands rattled, chewing through the invaders like nobody's business. The Fascists soon stopped coming, and Oleg took this moment to reload Ludmilla.

Tossing the empty magazine aside, after chewing through a few more rounds into the dead troops, to make sure none were just faking it, and reloading a new drum, Oleg looked outside, to see what else the fascists had. Seemingly, it was just three Submachine Gunners, and a bunch of riflemen.

Which Oleg considered odd, as he leaned out the front door, exposing only the upper part of his face, and his gun. Fascists never came in such small nu-

Ivan could only watch as the trademark sound of a German rifle firing was heard. The older of the two Vodniks went limp, a hole forming right through his helmet, and the twisted piece of lead, not even shaped like a bullet, skittered to a stop at Ivan's feet.

Without even thinking, Ivan fell to the ground, crawling over to his fallen comrade, pulling the bulk of Oleg away from the open door. This became the first time, aside from during lunch, that Oleg didn't immediately have Ludmilla on his person, she having been left in the open, lack of coverage that the door provided.

Leaving the DP machine gun, Ivan grabbed one of the dead German's rifles, some ammo, and a second, which he perched his helmet on.

Leaning the German rifle against the window, the helmet balanced on the muzzle, Ivan again heard the crack of a German gun, as the steel helmet, with a trio of holes ripped into it. A machine gun, no doubt.

Slinging the second one over his shoulder, and the PPSh-41 over the other, Ivan ran hastily for the trap door, not taking any care to close it quietly. Another slamming sound was heard.

---German POV---

Largo, like a fair amount of the two groups, had disappeared behind cover when the Grenade went off, blowing three of Squad C's four men to kingdom come.

He looked over at Vogel. "Sorry."

"About what?" Eugen replied.

Largo pointed to the house across the street, now adorned with a dead Ivan. "Them."

Nodding, Eugen said, "Eh... I'll miss them."

It was silent. Eugen readied his MP40. "Potter, got some men I can borrow?"

"You going to get them killed?"

Eugen chuckled, though it was an unamused chuckle. "Shut up." The Stormtrooper got up, MP40 held tightly in his hands, ready to turn any enemy it may happen upon into Swiss cheese.

"Salinger. Nelson. Go help him out."

"Yes, Largo!" Hannes replied. Nelson simply sat there, a bit confused. It was about now the Englishman regretted taking French.

Sighing, Largo spoke in the best English he could muster. "Advard! Go help Hannes!"

A look of revelation on Edward's face, as he picked up his automatic rifle and ran after the Gallian shocktrooper.

Largo could see Edward Nelson turning out to be quite the pain in the neck. What with the Englishman not knowing a word of German, and all.

---End Chapter 28---

**Yeah. Weird. I really 'introduce' C-Squad only to wipe them out. But, hey! We'll see Vyse and Wendy! And I'll even research some more replacements for Otto, Kristof, and Etzel. I mean, now that I actually own VC and all.**

**Be sure to leave a review. I think you can come up with a reason as to why.**


	29. Selvaria

**Sorry for not updating. Finals and all that (Let me tell you; Romance [what we did in English this semester] is NOT my strength.)**

---Leningrad Oblast, June 25th---

Russia still clung to the heart of the city. Selvaria looked towards the Red Army troops gathered there, the numbers of the defenders standing neither to those of the joint German-Imperial force, nor to the fury of the Empire's Valkyria.

"Soldiers of Russia! Throw down your arms, and surrender to the might of the Empire!" Selvaria shouted out towards the men of the Leningrad Oblast defensive army.

"Ah-hem?" one of her German counterparts grunted.

"..._and_ Germany," she tacked on, loud enough to let the Russians hear them.

She and her German counterpart watched from behind a line of dug-in Imperial and German troops. The Russians held fire, probably considering the two options:

Surrender, and possibly live, or fight, and face certain death.

Many of the Russian troops placed their weapons upon the ground, and walked towards the German/Imperial lines.

"A good move. Your lives shall be-"

A loud succession of pops and bangs. Selvaria looked at her men. "Hold your fire! They are surrendering."

"It's... it's not us!"

Selvaria looked back up to the surrendering Russians, and to the muzzle flashes of the troops standing their ground.

"They're firing on their own men..." Selvaria said quietly, to herself. "What... monsters, would fire on their own men?"

The surrendering troops picked up the pace, hoping to outrun the bullets striking them from former allies, and to possible survival in Imperial hands.

Selvaria heard – nay, _felt_ – the screams of the Soviet troops attempting to surrender. While she did not understand the screams of pain wrought from the troops rushing to her with arms in the air.

Then, it seemed they spoke so she could understand them...

"_Help! Help us... agh!_"

"_No... please! We only want life!_"

She opened her red eyes wider, observing the lengths the Soviets would go to insure loyalty.

"All troops, advance!" Selvaria shouted out. "Save anyone you can!"

---Leningrad Defensive Army---

Ivan let his machine gun fall to the ground, the fury inspired by the commissar dying down. He realized the extent of what he'd done. Anger disappeared, as he saw the burning blue flame of the Empire's Valkyria marching towards him, and it was replaced with both fear, and remorse.

Any man can kill an enemy soldier. But, what monster could kill one of their countrymen, let alone kill them in droves?

The PPSh-41 raised back up to fire upon the now advancing enemy. He knew he could not fight the Valkyria, but he could _resist_.

The gun rattled out, rounds striking the armor of the Imperial troops, and doing negligible damage, if any at all. Looking down, he saw one of the SVT-40s of one of the men who attempted to surrender. He tossed his Papasha aside, and picked up the rifle.

"Please, Invaders... leave," Ivan pleaded, "Leave our Motherland."

The thunderous sound of a KV1 firing, reducing an Imperial tank to mangled metal. A second thud, and the 82mm round of a German tank turned a group of men who stood their ground into little more than people pieces.

"Melnikov! Keep firing!" a Commissar shouted.

_Please, Valkyria..._

Ivan felt the rifle drop from his hands, as he raised them.

"Accept my surrender..."

"Melnikov! Don't you dare! I _will_ fire on you!"

"...and my apo-"

The last thing Ivan heard was the sound of an SVT firing.

---Selvaria---

She looked at the Russian now dead before her, killed by a zealot loyal to his party. She did not understand the words spoken by the Russian soldier, but she did understand this:

He was dead. She could live with that, for she had killed many before.

But, it was _how_ he was killed that made her question things. The world dyed a shade of blue from her flames, she saw one thing stand out:

One of the Russian officers, holding the smoking gun which had killed his countryman.

"You..." she began, anger building up in her voice and herself. "You would dare kill your countryman?"

The officer simply opened up on her. The close range prevented her flames from preventing the round from striking her, but what little damage the round did was instantly healed.

"You... are _weak_."

The officer kept firing the rifle, until it ran out of ammo and clicked, the sound lost to the battle around them, as Imperial and German forces overran and slaughtered the Russians who resisted.

A quick slash of her lance ended the Officer's life, the SVT propelled hundreds of meters away. She didn't even dignify him, moving right on to unleashing her lance upon a KV1, as the Commissar's legs collapsed to the ground.

A beam of blue light struck the heavy armored vehicle, as it exploded in a ball of blue and red flame.

She felt a 76.2 round from a T34 nearing her. Her shield swung around, deflecting the round into a building.

The sudden pain took her by surprise, as she suddenly watched her shield fly from her hand. She looked down, a hole having formed in her, which refused to heal.

_Wha..._

A second armor-piercing round struck her. It, like the prior, came from behind. This one also failed to heal.

Gasping for breath, and on verge of collapsing, she turned to face the one thing she didn't think would kill her:

A PTRD, along with Soviet reinforcements. The German and Imperial troops now had enemies attacking from both, and due to her wounds, she could do nothing, as the blue flame around her died.

_No! Impossi-_

Her thought was interrupted by one final PTRD round. The Axis had lost a Valkyria.

---End Chapter 29---

**Aaaaaand... commence flak-giving. Keep in mind that since this is the Great Patriotic War, not the Second Europan War, I feel I could have Selvaria get killed by an Antitank Rifle and not be breaking things too much (I was actually going to kill her anyway... though the PTRD is actually much better than my original, nigh Red Alert-ish way [she was going to get run over by a BA-12 armored car])**

**As always, be sure to leave a review. My apologies for the short length, but these three-page chapters are, frankly, perfect for me, at least.**


	30. Alicia minus Welkin equals

---Field Marshal Ritter von Leeb's _HQ_, Leningrad, Russia, June 27th, 1941---

Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb looked upon the tattered remains of Leningrad. In about every direction he looked, he saw buildings with holes blown in them from artillery, and the remains of many burning vehicles – German, Imperial, and Russian – littered the square that the Russians held so dearly.

"What will we tell The Leader?" Wilhelm said, turning to a subordinate.

The subordinate, Colonel Hans-Ulrich von Luck und Witten, of the 9th Armored Infantry regiment, thought for a moment.

"Not to sound disgraceful, General-Field Marshal, but is that all you called me for?"

Ritter von Leeb turned to von Luck.

"No, not at all, Colonel. Rommel has requested your regiment, and we're actually due to receive a tank division at some time in the future."

"I see. So, you're sending us down to help General-Field Marshal Rommel."

Ritter von Leeb nodded in reply. "Though, I have made exactly one request."

von Luck cocked his head. "What would that be, Sir General-Field Marshal?"

"Lieutenant Melchiott stays with Army Group Center-Middle."

Hans' eyes opened wide. "Sir? Why do you make such a request?"

Wilhelm shrugged. "It's simple. If Rommel won't make use of her powers as a Valkyria – as he demonstrated in England – I will."

"Sir, Captain Gunther won't -" von Luck fell silent.

"Gunther is just that – a Captain. His affairs mean nothing to me, and frankly, he shouldn't have one with his fellow soldier anyway."

von Luck nodded, unwillingly. "Yes, but..."

"...But nothing, Colonel. I need to make up for a whole in my offensive power created by Bles' death, and Melchiott is just that. That damned captain has stood between me and _total_ victory over the Russians for long enough, even if this front is only a few months old. And now, the Leader will probably see to it himself that Gunther is given a nice, _deep_ grave."

Hans offered no response, only giving a Hitler salute, and turning to leave.

"Sir General-Field Marshal, I know that Welkin's affection towards Alicia breaks protocol, but it is that affection that drives him forward – Varrot told me this, and before his overdose, von Groebel told me this. If we cut that affection, it could have dire effects on _both_."

Ritter von Leeb shook his head. "If they love each other that much, they could stand a bit of separation. If my wife fought with me on the battlefield, I'd probably be distracted, just like Gunther."

von Luck grunted. "That's not the way it works between them, Sir General. Hail Hitler."

von Leeb produced a Hitler salute in response. "Hail Hitler."

With that, the Colonel left the Field Marshal, and began grumbling to himself. "Damn him... doesn't he see that their affection towards each other is the only thing that keeps them going? They have no country, no home to go back to, and so long as this war drags on, nothing to live for _but_ each other."

von Luck kept walking towards the Panzer V(G) Edelweiss near which Captain Gunther stood. The Colonel fell back when he saw a familiar brown head and red headscarf. _Damn,_ von Luck thought._ I'll catch the Captain alone to tell him von Leeb's verdict._ "Captain Gunther, Lieutenant Melchiott."

His two subordinates turned to face him, snapping into regular salutes.

"At ease. Could you direct me to Major Varrot?"

The two looked at each other, then at von Luck.

"Well, Colonel," Alicia began, "we kind of hoped you would know that."

The Colonel nodded. "Alright. Lieutenant, I wish to speak with the captain alone."

Alicia nodded, and left.

Welkin watched her leave, then turned back to von Luck. "What do you have, sir?"

"Rommel has requested that the 9th Armored Infantry head out for Army Group South, which is marching towards Stalingrad as we speak..."

"...Ok. I'll go tell Alicia..."

"...Alicia's not coming."

Welkin's eyes widened. "Wa-what? Why?"

"The Marshal in charge of South is Rommel. You remember him from England, don't you?"

"Yes... he never once ordered Alicia to use her powers. Almost like he cared about her -"

"...Which is exactly why Ritter von Leeb has ordered she remain in Center-Middle."

Welkin stood staring at the colonel, dumbfounded. "B-but..."

"I tried to talk him into letting her go, Welkin, but the Knight won't let go of her. Something about not being able to use his force to its fullest potential – supposedly, because of you."

Welkin's confused face turned into one of frustration. "Because of _me_? Ali... Lieutenant Melchiott is not a weapon, and if she was, it wouldn't be a weapon of Germany!"

"I know, but try telling Hitler or Goebbels, or Goering, or any member of German High Command! I realize and acknowledge your relationship with Alicia, Welkin, but High Command, to be frank, doesn't give a _shit_ about whether or not you love her... in fact, Leeb thinks separating her from you would be good for _both _of you."

Welkin's frustration turned to anger. "Leeb..."

"Gunther, I know you're angry at the General-Field Marshal, but his orders are almost those of the Leader himself right now."

"I know, Luck, it's just..."

"...besides, you could always write to her."

Welkin pressed his hand against his mouth. "Yes.. but that's not the same..."

Luck sighed. "I realize that the Marshal has, metaphorically, ripped your heart out, but..." he struggled to find good words to use, "I will... try to get things going right."

"Right?" Welkin looked up at Luck. "Colonel, when, since this war started, way back in France, perhaps even as far back as in Gallia, have things been right?"

"Gunther, I realize that your affection for Alicia..."

Welkin pulled his hat down. "Luck, I understand." His tone was that of sadness, as he walked away from his superior.

Of course, Hans-Ulrich von Luck und Witten didn't feel too superior at that moment.

---

Alicia was happily humming, as she walked into the field kitchen, her home-away-from-home on the battlefield.

"Moink?"

She looked down to see a familiar porcavian looking up at her.

"Oh... Hans! Sorry I haven't paid much attention to you lately!" Alicia stroked Hans lovingly atop his head, prompting a 'moink' in response.

"What do you mean, 'haven't paid much attention to me'?"

Alicia jumped at the voice. "H-Hans?!"

"Well, at least you got the name right, Lieutenant."

Alicia turned to face Hans-Ulrich. "Oh..." She blushed a bit upon seeing her superior in this situation, "sorry, sir."

Luck chuckled a bit. "About what? It wasn't like you'd know that a man with the same name would end up giving you orders, right?"

She giggled a bit. "No. But, I haven't seen you much lately, either. How have you been?"

Luck's outward attitude changed. "I have been better. Might I ask... are you preparing to make bread?"

Alicia nodded. "Yes... what do you mean, when you say that you've been better?"

"It is not important right now."

She knew otherwise, but also knew that she wouldn't get an answer out of the Colonel.

Nodding, she responded with, "So, Rommel's requested the 9th's help?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, he has."

Alicia nodded, smiling slightly. "Good. Perhaps he won't work us as hard, and I'll actually have time to spare."

Luck let out a quiet sigh. She didn't know.

"That might be correct, Miss Lieutenant, but I think that, if you're going to make that bread, you should. I will be frank – last time I had it was back in Munich, and that was over a year ago. Is it still as good as it was back then?"

Alicia nodded. "Last time I made some was on the border. Welkin took his slice with him to his tank, so I never got to ask."

"Well, that's a good sign."

Alicia smiled slightly. "I guess so."

Luck turned to leave Alicia to her own devices.

"Call me back when you've finished making that fine bread, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir!" Alicia said both obediently, and quite jovially.

As soon as he left the tent, Hans-Ulrich let the smile dissappear from his face. _Poor girl_, he thought to himself, _We'll be moving out in the morning – hell, I'll miss her a bit. I think the whole of C-Company will. She was easily the breadbasket of our morale, and Welkin can't be taking this well, either_.

Removing his peaked cap, Luck turned to look at his sulking subordinate, watching the sky above the dismantled remains of the city of Leningrad – in fact, if he remembered right – there was a joke going around from Rifleman Ustinov about Welkin giving Alicia the city of Leningrad for her birthday. Neither of the two actually confirmed that the city _was_, in fact, her birthday present, but back on the twenty fifth, after a skirmish between an Imperial/German force and the remaining Soviet troops, which cost the Axis one of their prized Valkyria, the city of Leningrad fell, and Alicia turned twenty-one.

Though, admittedly, it had made a damn good joke, everyone knew that Welkin wouldn't give Alicia a city, but he did give her a few Reichsmarks, since the battlefield had deprived him of anything else to give her.

Luck strove towards the tent that had been set up for him, and would remain for the regiment Alicia was getting re-assigned to, the 21st Infantry Regiment, which was part of the Corps Rommel had fought hard to keep her out of.

The 3rd Corps, under General Georg von Damon.

---End Chapter 30---

**Oh no... Alicia and Welkin separated by Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb? Alicia assigned to Damon's command? Things are not looking good for poor Lieutenant Melchiott D:**

**Be sure to leave a review. Frankly, I like getting them – though, I feel I might have caused the smite of AnnixEd to come my way (do to my critical reviews of her own work – frankly, I consider having Marcelina Lamterb cameo long enough to get blown up by a Klimi XD).**


	31. Jetzt komm die schlecte Zeit

**My feeble attempts at Romance (really, I'm an action guy) – feel free to claw your eyes out after this.**

---Leningrad, June 28th, 1941---

Alicia awoke with a slight hint of a smile, feeling the somewhat warm air when she awoke.

"Welkin, I-" she turned over to speak with him, only to find his absence. "Welkin?"

She remembered falling asleep next to him, but with the morning came his departure for Group South. Alicia, however, was successfully left in the dark – Hans-Ulrich figured that it was for the better that she not know until he, and the rest of the 9th Armored Infantry, had long since left.

"W-Welkin..." Her emotions sank from the happy mood she started in, and down into the sad state she would probably spend the better part of the war in.

_Why?_ Alicia thought stepping outside to see the camp nearly deserted, save for the occasional lookout.

Then it dawned on her – last night, Welkin had taken her to a secluded part of the ruined city, where the lights of the camp wouldn't obscure the night sky. Though she had found herself in a jovial mood that night, Welkin was sad – depressed, even.

She slumped down on her knees – when he told her he'd miss her, she didn't understand.

"He... he knew..."

"Lieutenant Melchiott?" Alicia turned to a voice she did not know.

"What is it?"

"Captain Gunther..." the man pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket. "He left this for you." The man, from beneath his steel helmet, looked at Alicia. The shadow cast by the helmet prevented him from displaying his emotions.

"Thank you."

He snapped into a Hitler salute. "Ma'am! Hail Hitler!"

She hated that sort of thing – mainly because it meant she had to do the same in response. Alicia unwillingly extended her hand out, and let out a quiet 'Hail Hitler'. Her arm drooped down once the man turned to leave, and she looked at the envelope in her hand, and opened it.

---_The Prior Night_---

She couldn't figure out why Welkin was sad – she could think of no reason why he would be. In retrospect, she knew exactly why, but hindsight is always 20/20.

He sat upon debris, looking up at the skies above Leningrad. Days before, they had been filled with planes of various types and the black clouds of Anti-Aircraft fire, but now, the only thing in them were stars, and a foul smell which they had long since adjusted to.

The two of them sat in silence, looking up at the stars.

"Welkin?"

He looked over. "Yes, Alicia?"

"Do you think – one day, once this war is over, that things can go back to normal?"

Welkin had to be honest, with both himself and Alicia. He didn't know – he didn't even know if the war would end.

"I don't know – I don't know if that's even possible, Alicia."

She turned to him, sitting forward.

"How so?"

He stumbled over his next words. "Well – things wouldn't be 'normal', as in like the way it was before the war, at least, not for us."

For the time being, she didn't quite get what he'd said.

---_Present_---

Now, though, she fully understood.

"I didn't... even get to say, 'goodbye'." Alicia looked down at the letter once again, noticing a wet spot had formed where a tear had fallen.

_Well_, Alicia thought, _I suppose it is not too late to say_...

"Goodbye, Welkin. I hope, one day..."

"Ah, Lieutenant Melchiott."

Alicia nearly jumped half a meter into the air upon hearing a familiar, gruff voice that she'd heard and hated as far back as September of 1939 – when the Gallian/German war started. She looked over her shoulder at his bulbous appearance, though the massive feather atop his hat had long since been traded for the normal peaked one worn by most officers of the German military she'd seen. His uniform was also vastly less decorative. Though, the rigid right-arm salute and call of 'Hail Hitler' fit him well, in her opinion.

"General Damon, what a... er, pleasure, to see you."

"Lieutenant, I can only figure that the sole reason High Command holds interest in a peasant like you is because of your Valkyrian bloodline – I still can't figure out why that would make a difference." Damon adjusted one of the Medals he'd been given in the Gallian military. "Now, since you're a Valkyria, and Leeb assigned you to me to be used as such, I will see to it that you are used as you should be!"

Alicia sighed, as a tear rolled down her cheek. Welkin was forced to move elsewhere, and she'd been assigned to Damon's Corps. A degree of cynicism took hold – she doubted she would see Welkin again.

"Yes... sir..." the words were sour in her mouth as she said them.

---End Chapter 31--

**A bit short, I know – wait, you're still reading? Mind telling me how bad this chapter was? (This is my second attempt at anything even AKIN to romance – and it also sucks to be Alicia now :( ).**

**Shameless plug time – but not for anything that's mine. Since I respond in kind – and Unicorn has basically advertised Battlefield Gallia for me – I'm going to recommend to you the fic "Magical Girl Zaka". It seems to be every bit as entertaining as the premise.**

**Please leave a review – assuming, of course, you can still find the review button, and the keys with which to type after clawing your eyes out with a fork (but, if you're reading this, that's a good sign!)**


	32. Drunken Welkin

---Pskov, Russia, 3rd July, 1941---

It had only been a few days since they'd forcefully parted ways, but Welkin already doubted that they would see each other again. He questioned Leeb's choice in separating him from Alicia, and she'd told him, the night prior, that she wasn't scared when he was there – which probably meant she was shaking in her boots. His thoughts were locked onto her – nothing distracted him, he either quickly remembered Alicia, or the subject in question somehow reminded him of her, even when they seemingly had nothing to do with her.

One of his equals, a Captain Udo Sankt, was one of the people attempting to draw the nature lover's mind away from Alicia – mainly because the entire regiment fell flat on its face when one of the captains was distracted as Welkin was. Though, he'd quite successfully distracted himself in attempting to distract his equal.

"...so, anyway," Udo continued, though Welkin wasn't paying much attention, "I yell suddenly, 'those aren't mine, they're my brother's!' So half the restaurant's looking at me like I'm some madman, and... Hey. Gunther. I'm right here."

"Huh?" Welkin looked up from his untouched glass of beer, at Udo. "Sorry, I was just-"

"Ok. I get it, you miss her. But they're more to life than just a girl..." Udo quickly scanned the bar around them for something. "Like, uh, other girls."

Welkin cocked his eyebrow, before tuning Udo out again.

"Hey. Hey. Listen up, champ. See... what's-her-name... Coren, over there."

Welkin looked over at the blonde. "Juno? What about her."

"I've seen the way she looks at you – she likes you, Gunther."

"Yeah but Alicia's..."

"Alicia's one of those Valkyries..."

"Valkyria..."

"...Whatever. She's more than capable than fending for herself – besides, while the fat asshole at the top isn't exactly the sharpest tool, I know of a whole bunch of officers under him who more than make up for it."

"Yeah, well, what about General Bles."

"Damn fluke. I'd like to see the Ivans try it again."

Welkin remained silent. He _didn't_ want to see the Ivans try it again.

"...Hey? Anyone home?"

Welkin locked on to Udo. "Uh – yeah."

"As I was saying," his tone was slightly sarcastic, "she can fend for herself. She'll be fine – she's learned from Bles, and she's got like, what? Four Panzer Regiments backing her up? I'm sorry, but those Edelweisses – oh, sorry, _your_ Edelweisses."

Welkin shook his head. "No. Isara took care of the Edelweiss, I had nothing to do with it."

"Then we came in and found it before anyone else did, started grinding it out of the Factories like sausage links – oddly enough, that sounds damn good right now."

"What?" Welkin looked at Udo with a questioning face. "A tank sounds good right now? As in, to eat?"

"No, no, the sausage – I haven't had a good bratwurst in forever."

They remained silent, aside from Udo asking for another beer. Welkin looked down at his own untouched glass of the yellow liquid, which he despised – to him, it had a horrible taste, and he didn't like being drunk anyway. Not since Munich, and not since a party in collage where he woke up with a lampshade on his head and a ball gag in his pocket – he subsequently swore to not get drunk ever again. Then again, he hadn't much else to do. He gagged on the fluid as it hit his tongue, though not as bad as he had last time he'd drank. The remaining foam on the beer which hadn't faded adhered to his upper lip, as he set the glass down with a sharp 'thud'.

"Ugh..."

"Not bad – all of it in one swig."

Welkin looked at the glass – as Udo had noted, it was empty. Though, perhaps this once, getting drunk would actually be to his advantage. He requested a second one, and guzzled it down before his body could tell him otherwise.

Time passed, and soon, Alicia was the last of Welkin's thoughts, as the number of steins around him had increased from one full one to numerous empty ones. He found himself looking at the girls in the barroom in a different light – he once heard one of the men say that the girls got prettier near closing time, and he was finding that to be true. Time passed further, and Welkin's memory – and his vision – was soon reduced to a blur.

When he awoke the next morning, he was hungover – one reason behind making the resolution not to get drunk anymore. He was also other things – Udo was staring at him with a 'gotcha' look on his face. Welkin was suddenly quite interested in the happenings of the night prior – though, at least he didn't wake up with a lampshade on his head. Looking about his surroundings, he was obviously in a quarters of some sort, and certainly not his own.

"Uh – who's room am I in?" Welkin asked, looking at Udo, and noticing his current state of dress – or lack there of.

"Mine – you and the girl you brought with you made me spend the night with the tanks because I couldn't think of anywhere else to sleep – you ARE aware of Salinas, right?"

Welkin nodded, before Udo's words sunk in. "Wait... girl I brought in?"

"Yeah – a redhead. You were drunk off your ass last night. I'd ask you how EXACTLY you threw a tank shell thirty meters, but I don't think _you'd_ know how you did it."

"A redhead?!" Welkin's eyes opened wide. "Uh... do you know who?"

"I don't know – it might have been a local girl, or it might have been Linton. I don't know, I was drunk, and tired."

Welkin flopped back in the bed as Udo made his way off. No doubt they'd remain for a bit – while he doubted Isara had gotten intoxicated, let alone drunk, he couldn't be too sure about the rest of the 9th's drivers and men – besides, if both he and Ramona had gotten that drunk, chances were that there was at least on other man in the 9th who'd woke up in a similar place as he had.

"I'm sorry, Alicia," Welkin said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. While he wasn't exactly sure how sorry he was, he did feel as though he'd betrayed her – with out a doubt, if she was there, she'd be QUITE upset with him...

Welkin groaned, because now that the drunkenness had faded into a hangover, he could somewhat think straight – which meant thoughts of Alicia where returning to him.

"Agh... Alicia..."

---End Chapter 32---

**Cue flaming for having a drunken Welkin – though, if there is truth in television, people often do turn to the bottom of a bottle when things turn downward.**

**Feel free the leave comments and criticism in a review.**


	33. Language Barrier

**I hereby declare it fan service time! Enjoy – I won't get _too_ descriptive, I'm trying to keep this a T-rating. There is a line between my own hormones and historical accuracy.**

---An obscure village in Russia, 8th July,1941---

She became a radically different person when exposed to alcohol or any other intoxicant – not that the company was complaining. After all, it could be considered a honor of sorts to see Hitler's Valkyria in this state.

Alicia wore a near-perpetual blush, though not due to any degree of embarrassment – once she became drunk, she lost the ability to either be embarrassed, or indeed restrain more primal desires. Whether it was worse or better, aforementioned 'primal desires' didn't descriminate between genders – though, if the response from the drunken men of the A-Company of the 21st Infantry Regiment was any indicator, it was, presumably, for the better.

She still couldn't figure out how she let Freesia talk her into it, though.

Though the cheers and catcalls of the German troops, who were cast in a slight hint of blue light (at their own request), a small bit of Alicia's mind was berating her for not only betraying Welkin, but betraying him for a _woman_. Again, however, this was at the request of the many German troops watching them. That didn't quell that cool-headed part of her mind that had been tossed aside like a stale loaf of bread – if anything, Alicia half-wanted to be in this position herself, anyway.

Well, when she was drunk, at least – when she awoke the next morning, wearing little more than her uniform's jacket (and even _that_ was questionable), and mostly exposed to the somewhat cold air in Russia, she noted three things:

The first was that she was wearing _only_ her uniform jacket. The second, a German who she didn't even know was in a similar state of dress on one side of her, and the last thing was the big kicker. She could for certain confirm she was in a total state of drunkenness the night prior when she noticed _Freesia_ on the other side of the German – which held heavy implications that, not only had she cheated on Welkin, but she'd cheated on Welkin for both a man who she didn't know, and for a _woman_.

A burning feeling welling up in her face – no doubt dying it a shade of crimson – Alicia quickly scrambled to get what seemed to be her clothing back on before either of the other two awoke, to salvage what little shred of dignity she had left. Many things were running through her mind – exactly how far things had gone, how she'd gotten in this position, and how she let Freesia talk her into this – though, it was half her own fault.

"Well, if heard of guys doing the whole 'ditch-them-the-morning-after' routine, but I don't recall ever hearing of a _girl_ doing it."

If she wasn't crimson already, she'd just turned as red as her old headscarf. Perhaps a few shades darker.

"Though, I must admit – for a girl as level-headed as yourself, you have considerable -"

"Shut up!" Alicia shouted, scrambling her clothing back on. "I don't _care_, I don't want to _know_!"

Her face kept burning, and she buttoned the last button on her uniform's shirt, and pulled the light gray jacket over the garment, and hurriedly rushed out the door, face still burning a shade of red, only to be greeted with a fair amount of catcalls, forcing the memories of the night prior onto her.

"Well, well! Hitler's Valkyria! Gallian women, I just -"

Alicia sent one of 'those' looks at the man, silencing him. It was one of the many things she'd learned – this from Marina Wulfstan – back in Squad 7, was this particular glare that had the words 'Shut up or I'll kill you' written all over it. Alicia made note to thank Marina again for it, since she'd also used the glare a couple times back in the 9th. She felt she'd be using it a lot in the 21st.

She dashed into the one place she could think of that provided any degree of safety – since Freesia was the only person she knew, and the dancer was, at best, an acquaintance who'd somewhat gotten her into this mess, she began to seek safety in loneliness.

_Drown my sorrows – ha._ Alicia leaned against the side of a halftrack, out and away from the rest of the regiment. _I should know better – especially when Freesia's involved._

She set her face in her hands, and felt a sob escape her – it was because of what she thought Welkin would think, half the reason why she'd let Freesia talk her into doing that the night prior. Hopefully, she could try to get transferred to a different Corps, perhaps even into the Imperial military, so as to escape the shame she now felt.

_Welkin..._

Then, she thought of the man himself, an in essence why she bothered staying in the German military – while the thought hadn't crossed her mind when he first left, leaving her utterly devastated, she now felt that, if she was to have any chance to find Welkin again, she'd have to go with it – though, she swore that she'd limit her drinking to nothing near the heavy stuff that occurred. If she got that drunk and stupid again, as though she was little more than a rowdy teenager (which, up until the 25th of June, she was, to a degree), there was no telling what ramifications could follow – indeed, there was no telling what would follow the prior night's actions.

She looked up, allowing her thoughts to wander into a happier space – while she felt a hangover, it was one of the many thing's she'd adjusted to – back in Bruhl (forever ago), there was one of 'those' parties – no further elaboration is needed, but she wasn't proud of her occasional decision to let out her more loose, promiscuous side. Which generally lead to a fair amount of paranoia of what, exactly, would be the outcome.

"Alicia? When'd you get transferred in?" This voice was familiar – albeit, it was in English, but Catherine O'Hara's German wasn't 'exactly' convincing.

"Aah! _Wer..._ Cazherine?" Alicia said – her grasp on English not as good as she wished it to be.

"Well, who else would it be? Henry the Eighth?" Catherine hopped down from the Hanomag, and sat in the dirt next to Alicia. "So, how were they doing?"

"Ah- who?" Alicia cocked her head. "Oh, _die Neunte Panzerinfantrie_, _bestimmt_?"

Catherine quickly consulted a German-English dictionary. "Yes, I think. Is that where Squad 7 ended up?"

Alicia stared, before taking the dictionary from Cathrine. "Oh – _Trupp Seiben -_Zhey are, eh... _geht klar_."

Catherine cocked her head. "You know, your English is horribly broken. I'll make you a deal – I'll teach you English, if you teach me German."

Alicia stared again, forcing Catherine to translate, which she couldn't – 'jmdm' didn't have anything in her book.

"_Es tut mir lied_, Cazherine," Alicia said after a few moments.

Catherine at least attempted to make it look like she understood Alicia – whatever had caused the girl to turn to secluding herself from the regiment was probably important, but she didn't know how to communicate that fact with the poor girl – it went without saying that she wasn't there the night prior.

"You..." Alicia said, turning to face Catherine. "You don't understand..."

Catherine produced a somewhat confused look. "Alicia, I -"

"_Nein, du kanst versteht mir nicht._"

They stared at each other – if they could understand one thing, it's that there was a tall language barrier – Alicia's English was on par with that of a young child learning the language, and Catherine – well, she had to rely on one of the men in the 'einsundszwanzigste infantrie' in order to understand what she was being told to do.

So began a long, hard process.

---End Chapter 33---

**Well, I guess I quite nicely explained the Alicia/Jonas _waaay_ back when they got captured – Alicia changes radically when intoxicated. I'm going to try to get as many 7 (_Seibene?) _in as I can, in roles that would fit, and Catherine not having a good groundwork of German (and Alicia of English) should make for some interesting moments.**

**Please be sure to review.**


	34. Growing Pains

**Somehow, I increased the quality of my last chapter. I have a thing for cute brunettes, and Alicia fits the bill perfectly. XD Yes – the man with a RA2/RA3 Soviet Conscript mishmash as his avatar likes Alicia. So what?**

---Somewhere in Southwestern Russia, 15th July, 1941---

The column of vehicles ground forward, von Luck's tank near the front, and companies in alphabetical order. This meant, of course, Welkin's company was bringing up the rear, slogging along in the mud from what would constitute two days of rain back in Gallia and Germany. Of course, the eastern European state of Gallia, and the far western parts of the Soviet Union were similar – in fact, for a few days Welkin kept wondering when they'd get to Fouzen, when, in fact, they'd passed it five days prior, and had crossed the border with Soviet-Occupied Poland, an oft-overlooked fact that the Nazis shared the state of Poland with the Soviet Union, their western parts falling half a month quicker than the smaller Gallia.

But, as he continued moving towards Field Marshal Rommel's group in the south part of Russia, Welkin could confirm – with the mud adhering to the treads and wheels of the tanks, halftracks, and trucks the 9th – soon to be reformed with Rommel's 5th Panzers into the 31st Mechanized – was a sure indicator that they'd traveled deep into Russia, having left Poland and Belarus in the closest thing to dust you could get with the soggy ground of the eastern parts of the smaller Ukrainian SSR and Belorussian SSR, and the western parts of 'The Motherland' itself.

Back on the 13th, Welkin recalled actually having to pull a Panzer IV – with a light degree of irony, the tank which Isara was driver for – out of the mud. The narrow treads of the earlier medium tanks couldn't disperse the weight of the vehicle, leading it to sink into the brown mush, providing a bit of comedy when one of the new Anti-Tankmen, who was equipped with a Germanized Lancaar, attempted to push the tank out himself (and ended up being coated a shade of 'shit brown', to borrow from Franz Bergmann). It eventually came down to the Edelweiss to pull the tank out.

Welkin patted the tank – to a degree, it was the only thing to remind him of von Groebel, and of Alicia. He'd been through a lot with the machine, and actually felt a bond of sorts – memories he would never have, and those which he did. It almost pained him, to a degree, when it was stated that he'd have to trade it in for the heavier Panther, a more direct copy of the tank, though with a less efficient Petrol engine. The Edelweisses themselves would be called back for retooling and modernization – new Russian tanks, such as a version of 'Klimi' tank, could easily punch though the armor, but the tank's mobility for its weight meant he'd probably see his tank again with an 88mm gun sticking out of the hull, or an antiaircraft gun.

The vehicles before him ground to a halt – thus, Welkin's tank did similar.

"Why did we stop?" Welkin asked into the radio, an odd groan in his voice.

"Eh..." the voice of one of the Majors – a male, so thus not Varrot – grumbled, "The Spanish are sending men to help us out – seems that with us owning most of Europe, and a fair deal of North Africa, they decided they're going to help us out here in Russia, and also try to keep the States out of this mess – it also means there's a Spanish Flag over Gibraltar."

This was a head-scratching moment. "Spanish? I thought they were going to stay neutral."

"Well – I suppose their leader heard that there was protection in the arms of the Axis, though from what I don't know – the Yankees don't strike me as an imperialistic bunch, what with all those convoluted doctrines they have, and that democracy thing."

Welkin took this time as an opportunity to hop out and see how Isara was doing – He hoped down from atop the Panzer V(G), and began walking down the line of tanks, until he came to a Panzer IV with the common blue-white markings on the barrel – a pattern issued by the Germans to help them tell the difference between Gallian and German units.

"Hi, Welks." Isara poked her head out of the Panzer IV, before climbing out herself. As per usual, her shawl was stained with oil and grease – Welkin was surprised that von Groebel, way back in Randgriz, hadn't taken her shawl – perhaps he, unlike Hitler, understood the connection the shawl provided with her people. "Hi, Hans."

Welkin turned and instinctively looked down, to see a pair of boots – the Hans in question wasn't a porcavian, obviously.

"Captain? Something on my shoes I should know about?" The voice was somewhat unsure, and quite young-sounding; it was Hans Bieber's voice.

Welkin chuckled a bit, before looking up to look Bieber in the eye. "No, not at all. What brings you out of your tank?"

The words 'your tank' put a small smile on the South German's face. "Oh – well..." his eyes became directed towards Isara. "Heh... just, taking a walk, Sir."

Welkin smiled. "I'd join you, but I have to stay with the company. Fortunately, there's plenty here for me to study."

Bieber nodded. "Of course, sir." He began walking down the line, muttering to himself, and a blush forming on his face – once again, he'd failed to get the gall to talk to Isara – perhaps because he was crushing on the Captain's younger sister, that he was unwilling to talk to her.

Isara sat on the front of the tank – it was too long of a wait to just sit in it, but too short to get any work done – if anything even needed to be done. She turned to look down the column of vehicles, and decided to see what exactly it was Bieber had actually wanted. "Welks – I'm going off for a bit. You don't need me here, do you?"

Welkin thought for a second, then shook his head. "No – might I ask, where you're going?"

To late – she'd already set off, not even waiting for a dismissal of any sort. Welkin knew she probably wouldn't get into any sort of trouble, but that didn't mean trouble couldn't find her anyway. The company practically ran itself anyway, and the other woman in his life had been torn away by von Leeb, so he was a bit wary as to letting Isara run off – particularly in the direction that Bieber took.

He pulled his cap down, covering his eyes and most of his hair, and removed his blue and white armband, stashing the cloth in one of his pockets. Welkin now appeared as a regular German Captain, so long as he kept his distance, and didn't open his mouth – Gallians had a slightly different accent than Germans did.

Walking nonchalantly in Isara's direction, Welkin felt multiple thoughts run in his mind. Most of them had Bieber, or one of the other Germans doing something malicious to Isara – which he wouldn't allow, so long as breath was in his body. Adler had already attempted such acts to Alicia, and if anyone attempted anything along those lines – well, von Groebel wasn't here to stop him. He'd willingly put up with any sentence issued to him, so long as Isara was safe.

He came to the end of the convoy, and to a transport truck. The nervous voice of a Particular South German was heard, and Welkin felt a slight hint of anger – until he heard what was being said.

"...you're Darcsen. So what? You're a nice person, Isara..."

Not words used by anyone with malicious intent, but he couldn't be sure. His curiosity taking hold of him, he poked his head around the rear of the truck.

"Thank you, Hans..." Isara looked up, spotting Welkin quite easily. "Hold on..."

Welkin ducked behind the truck, and quickly practiced a German accent. He sounded quite convincing.

"Welkin..."

"Welkin? You mean captain Gunther?"

Isara stared at him – seemingly, she bought it. "Is that a Lion's Paw?"

Instinctively, Welkin turned to look at the flower. "No – it's related though, it's..." cover blown by his own obsession.

Isara's face drooped, hints of anger poking through. "Welks..."

"Is, I've already lost Alicia, I can't stand to lose you, too."

"...I'm not a child anymore, Welks. I think I can make my own choices now."

"Yes, but – what if someone..."

"I'm _not_ a child."

Well, many things could attest to that – though he didn't let it catch his attention, her appearance was that of an adult – but to him, she was still a young girl. Welkin bit his lip, feeling that Bieber would end up doing something that would hurt her.

"You have to let go of me eventually, Welkin."

She was right. Nothing could prevent her, at least, once this war ended, from following her own path. As much as he hated it, it was like the birds leaving their nest.

Welkin turned to face Isara. "Fine – but..."

Isara cocked her head. "But... what?"

"...nothing."

Isara turned away, going back behind the truck, and once again to Bieber's side.

"What was that about, Isara?"

She remained silent on the subject. "You've told me a lot about myself, but nothing of you."

Welkin didn't hear anything past that, as he walked back towards his tank. It didn't matter, though the shouts that they were moving out again did. Turning, he shouted the message down the line, when it eventually reached Isara and Hans. As soon as the message was passed on, he picked up the pace, running for he lead tank of the company. The last thing the company needed was a Captain who was falling behind. Which was now the only thing left for him to turn to.

---End Chapter 34---

**Since Isara has yet to get killed (and I doubt I will kill her), it makes since for her to 'grow up', so to speak – the Isara/Bieber relationship will be developed with time, and also allow for my ability to write romance to go from whatever it was back in Ch. 30 and 31, and possibly end up playing a good part of the storyline – since we all know that the Nazis are going to lose. Me coming from a family of Nazi-haters (and me myself being one), I'm not about to let them win, at Squad 7's expense.**

**Feel free to review.**


	35. Confession

---21st July, 1941---

After spending a fair amount of the month traveling, they'd finally reached Rommel's front, along with the Panzer division that they would combine with. Silently, Welkin observed the new-found relationship between his sister and a tanker from Group Bergmann. It served as a hurtful reminder, both of Isara's words, and of the harsh reality which he now had to accept.

This was easily the most removed he'd felt from 'home' as he'd ever been. With Alicia having been left behind thousands of kilometers to the north, and Isara now separating herself from him, he felt as though his world was going to tatters. Perhaps, it was time to hit the bottle again...

He shook the thought off. Nothing good happened when he was drunk – he still couldn't really take Ramona seriously after her lack of confirmation concerning Udo's insinuations. The German's line of 'on second thought, it might have been a blonde' didn't help Welkin's situation.

"Hi... Welkin..."

That voice...

"Hello, Juno."

Welkin turned to face the blonde. He also saw her in a different light, no thanks to a particular German. After making a mental note to fill Udo's hand with shaving cream, he nodded to Juno, motioning for her to continue.

"You have something to tell me?"

While, normally, Juno was quite composed, if his men were to believed, the girl was struggling to produce whatever it was – and he had a pretty good idea as to what 'it' referred to – and couldn't spit it out.

"Welkin, I... I..."

"Well, what is it?"

She quickly handed Welkin an envelope. "Here. This is for you," she stated, at which point, she turned to leave.

Welkin mentally debated with himself, over whether or not to open the parcel. While, under no circumstance would Alicia or himself forgive further transgressions against the relationship once had, he knew he couldn't simply dwell on the past. It also ran the chance of doing untold harm to Juno – and that was something he couldn't live with. The conclusion was reached; slowly, he pulled out a small pocket knife, and tore the top of the letter off.

_Dear Welkin..._

---

Isara sighed – the unsure Southerner, while having confessed his feelings, was still nervous around him. If she'd had known, way back on Christmas day of 1939, that the man watching her work on a Panzer 38(t) would have ended up in this position, an unsure look upon his face in both cases, she might have figured out what to do. Her luck and his, they both lacked any degree of experience in this situation. Ignoring the prying eyes of her brother – distracted, at least momentarily, by Juno – she turned to speak to Hans, yet produced nothing.

They were an awkward pair.

"Isara – does love feel this way?" Hans asked, in his now-common, nervous voice.

"I... don't know," was her reply.

He grunted. "If only we weren't in the army... we could go do something – damn the Lightning War!"

At this, Isara giggled, a slight smile coming to her face. "Hans, I..."

A loud crack sound. Instinctively, Hans leaped at Isara, knocking her to the soft, nigh-liquid ground.

"Isara...! Are you..."

"Yes..." the sudden weight of the man atop her came as a bit of a shock to her, though that quickly faded. "Who was hit? That wasn't a German gun..."

"Medic!" Juno's voice could be heard, crying out. "Medic! Wel... the Captain's hit!"

Since only Welkin really communicated with the other captains of the regiment, that left the term 'The Captain' to refer only to one person. Both Isara and Hans quickly stood up, and Isara, back plastered with the liquid dirt that made up the ground, quickly ran for Welkin, who was clutching his gut. Before him, in the brown substance, a paper with a splash of red – no doubt his blood – upon it.

"Welks!" Isara came to her brother's side, holding him up.

---

Welkin felt the round from a rifle – without any doubt a Soviet sniper had scoped him – pierce his back and leave via his stomach. He was halfway through reading Juno's letter when his attention was forcefully directed to his gut – where the exit wound was. As he slunk into the mud, and his grip released Juno's declaration of affection towards him, allowing it, a splatter of red on it, to settle in the mud.

The next thing he knew, he felt something holding him up – or rather, someone. A female voice called him by his pet name, and he knew instantly, it was Isara. No-one else used that name.

"Is...ara..." he groaned. "I'm..."

"Don't worry, Welks. The Medics will take care of you!"

"...I'm sor... ry..."

"Stay with me, Sir... how many fingers!" The Medic extended four of the appendages.

"F... four..."

"Ok... Fina, you helping me?! Stay with me, Captain..."

Welkin felt himself being lifted up. "Ali...cia..."

---End Chapter 35---

**Oh no! Welks got shot! D:**

**Originally, I was going to have none other than Lyudmila Pavlichenko – a Real Life Soviet Sniper – fire that shot. But then I realized, "Save it for Chapter 36."**

**Be sure to review and berate me for 1. Shooting Welkin, 2. Pairing Isara with an OC. Though, probably not as grating as AnnixEd – at least it was a _logical_ development in Is' character.**


	36. Deja Vu

**Command & Conquer 2: Tiberian Sun is freeware! Go to the C&C website and download it!**

---German Field Hospital, Southwestern Russia, Army Group 'South', 28th July, 1941---

A smile appeared on the lips of the recovering Welkin Gunther. He read the telegram from Alicia, thankful with every fiber of his being (even those removed from him by the bullet) that she was alright. While it did not entirely ease the pain from the separation, it provided ever-needed comfort, and given the pain which hadn't faded from the round from a Russian sniper, it was quite needed.

Letting himself lay back in the bed, and allowing his thoughts to yet again drift off to the brown-haired baker, he realized he didn't have much else to do. He'd spent the past couple days stuck in the infirmary – though a constant string of letters from Juno with enough frequency to make him wonder if she remained on the front lines did occupy his time.

The mainly empty infirmary did reinforce rumors that, contrary to his Imperial, Gallian, and Soviet counterparts, Rommel did care for his men, which, on one hand, put Welkin at ease, but on the other made him worry all the more for Alicia's welfare. It also allowed him to do something he often didn't have time for.

English practice – he still wanted to be a teacher, and didn't want to restrict his teachings to the many Europeans who spoke German, and also to make sure that any of his findings wasn't used to justify anything he felt immoral. He didn't find eugenics all too appealing. It wasn't that he couldn't _speak_ English – he could do that with minimal traces of a Gallian accent. The problem was _reading_, and also writing in it.

As luck would provide, the only thing he had written in the language was a mechanics book that he'd picked up for Isara in Britain – noticing far to late that it wasn't in their mother tongue. But, he felt he'd have to make do with it.

"Popular Mechanics... perhaps theres a reason Isara likes this sort of thing."

He opened up the cover of the magazine. It wasn't nature, but it would have to do.

---Front Lines, Army Group Center-Middle---

Alicia was wondering if Welkin had received the wire she sent, and when his response would be. It was one of the few things that still brought her any degree of happiness – even baking failed to cheer her up. The point had been reached, wherein she only became happy, to any degree, by receiving something from Welkin – knowledge that he was alright. Or, at least, still alive.

This last message wasn't near so uplifting. It was sent by Isara, who described Welkin suffering a wound thanks to a Soviet sniper, a thought that sent a shiver down her spine – it could have easily ended the man's life, had it struck higher, in the upper back.

But, he was still alive – so long as he was still alive, a chance – that ever-minute chance – stood that they might see each other again.

"Lieutenant Melchiott?" A somewhat familiar voice spoke, instantly drawing her attention to it. "What are you reading? You've had that same paper in your hand since you received it yesterday."

She didn't offer response to Trooper Drechsler, instead countering with, "why do you want to know?"

The SS Guard entered a state of apparent thought. "Well, for one, that has to be real important, and me and some of the Riflemen are wondering about it. For twe..."

..._twe_. No member of the SS would use that word. Austrians didn't often enter into the Armed Bodyguard.

Heinrich Drechsler – or rather, Friedrich Adler – fell silent, knowing that he'd given himself away, his tendency to use the Austrian word rather than the German one. Before Alicia could run off, he forced her onto the ground, quickly disarming her and placing her sidearm in his jacket.

"One peep from you and you've had it." The Austrian had his own P38 trained on her. Alicia allowed herself to comply – though, she'd become far more accepting of her powers than Adler seemingly thought, so if he tried anything like back in Kiel...

Her thought was forever unfinished. A sharp thump on the back of the head insured that. The rest of the picture was dark.

Whatever strange picture Adler's mind had painted, it was vastly different than the one he'd painted back in France and England. Alicia now lay in the back of a truck – the youthful face she once had was forever scared by the war. Dark circles had formed from the lack of sleep, and one could spot a gray hair or two mixed in with the brown – but, in his mind, she'd somehow remained the not only youthful person she once was, but also somehow was quite vulnerable, particularly to him. His mind had tricked him into thinking that he could easily attempt something like in Kiel again, and this time bring about success.

As the girl's eyes opened, he felt a smile stretch across his face – due to happiness or whatever machination his mind had created as result of his mental image of her – but that smile soon disappeared. He'd taken her for a reason, and he'd thus far been unlucky in prior attempts to get her to come willingly. Thus, force had to be applied.

Whether or not force would lead to his final goal, though, would be a question to be answered later.

--- End Chapter 36 ---

**He's back! Sorry about the short length, but I've been trying to get Drechsler/Adler back in again – I had him escape for a reason.**

_**Twe:**_** this spins from Austrian German's word for two: zwo, from zwölf. This is basically like saying 'twe' (from twelve) in place of two. Translation convention and all that.**

**Please review – and download Tiberian Sun!**


	37. Two Sides of the Coin

--- 28th July, 1941 ---

Why couldn't she dispel him with a simple blue glow and angry look? Such things could easily scare off even the bravest of men, and she knew her hair had to be as silver as the mineral from which the color took its name, and her eyes a shade of crimson, but the world around her wasn't dyed that light tone of blue that was indicative of the flames. What had he done to prevent her from making him pay for the transgression he was currently in the process of committing, sending a constant pain throughout her body.

Any sane man would have heeded the warning of the red glow in her eyes, yet Adler forcefully continued – the delusional Austrian apparently thinking she consented with his action, which muffled cries protested, and before he'd started, kicks attempted to ward off. All of which now seemed to be in vain – ever since Alicia ended up in the 21st infantry regiment, she'd suffered one blow to her once-high self-esteem, and now this. At one point – far back in France and west Germany, she once held the man committing this act in high regards.

As the pain of being separated from Welkin, as though with the serrated edge of a kitchen knife, was replaced with the pain of Adler's forced entry and the embarrassment resulting of her current situation, not at all aided by the man's seemingly pleasured screams and taunts, she considered many things. Routes with which to escape the cruel world formed in Welkin's absence, the best of which, at the moment, was to force her mind elsewhere – anywhere, even one of the 'camps' the Germans had set up – she heard very little of the camps, but it was easily better than what was happening at the moment.

A strange, yet familiar feeling indicated that – at least for now – Adler was finished humiliating her. Her mind remained in the happy elsewhere she'd put it – easily, this was the last thing she'd willingly think about.

Instead, her mind was filled with thoughts of a happy time, though whether or not it was a time gone by or simply her imagination was a fact she left unconsidered. Ties loosened, and she curled up into a ball, forcing her eyes shut, to block out the world – the gray inside of the Hanomag, the would-be SS Trooper, and the cold air of nighttime Russia.

The sound of the halftrack's rear door closing, and Alicia was left entirely alone. The halftrack's door didn't lock from the outside, but leaving the cold, angry gray confines of the machine was, at the moment, unimaginable. Despite what had transpired, and indications of it adhered to the floor, she felt the armor of the vehicle to be the only thing protecting her from the outside world – a world which she now felt had it in for her, seeking nothing short of her total humiliation and psychological meltdown.

He'd succeeded, though. Adler had broke her.

Still mainly exposed to the cold air and frigid inside of the personnel carrier, Alicia felt a second feeling of warmth: a tear forming in her eye. The saltwater trickled down her cheek, eventually running its way down her exposed self.

The sound of the door opening again would have put her on edge, if the voice accompanying it wasn't a calm female voice with a English accent. The one person she could possibly consider to be any resemblance of a friend.

"_Bitte... hilfe mir..._" The words came to Catherine's ears, the scared tone almost that of a scared child than of Hitler's personal propaganda weapon.

"Alicia! what... what happened?" Catherine's calm voice as stricken with pure horror, seeing the scene before her. She hopped into the vehicle, and quickly set about both finding some way to comfort Alicia, and give her a little bit of her dignity back. "Who's the bugger who's responsible for this?"

Alicia remained silent – while she wanted desperately to just blurt out, "Adler did it!", there was little knowledge that Catherine would actually understand _who_ Adler was. Removing a lump in her throat, her eyes met with the sniper's, prompting a confused response from the marksman, as the young would-be baker suddenly wrapped her arms around her.

"_Bitte_, Cazherine... _Ich will nicht_..." Alicia struggled to find good words – even words which Catherine couldn't understand – to say.

"Alicia – who did this? I can't do anything to help you, if you don't tell me."

Again, Alicia removed a lump from her throat. "Adler... Adler hat diese gemacht..."

The name 'Adler' wasn't entirely unfamiliar. "Adler..." the pale skin woman mused, before suddenly coming to a realization. "Adler – you wouldn't happen to mean Mann Drechsler, would you?"

Alicia didn't know what she had meant – all she knew as that she was in a confused, unclear state.

Catherine had to work with an assumption. "I thought I'd seen that bloody SS officer before – now I know where!"

Alicia clung to Catherine, not wanting her to leave. Her dignity was gone, any resemblance of the life she wanted was shattered, and now the only thing the brunette had was Catherine.

"Alicia – let go! I can't help you when you're practically attached to me!"

"Nein... bitte, geht nicht..."

Catherine sighed – this was _worse_ than a child.

"Alicia, please, I...!" Catherine was dyed a shade of red at Alicia's next action.

--- 31st Mechanized Infantry Regiment, Army Group 'South' ---

Isara was wary towards the stand-in for Welkin. Udo Sankt – the man who'd also managed to get Welkin drunk in weeks prior – was filling in for Welkin, and also commanding his own company. While it wasn't his command abilities she doubted, his... 'affinity' towards the women of Company C made her wonder if he was the right man for the job. His expressed interest in many of them (particularly the redheads) lead her to conclude that they should have just used Klink rather than Sankt. Klink, at least, wasn't so easily distracted by many a youthful girl.

It didn't concern her – other things did. Bieber recently attempted to get leave for her, as a gift of sorts – he wanted to take her sightseeing in Paris. Failing that, he'd instead elected to simply stay near her – the joke-excuse was that 'someone had to watch her', though that was more so for everyone else's sake rather than his or her own.

A smile came to her face – thoughts of the night prior were still fresh in her head, and they'd kept her going all day, in just as cheerful of a mood as she could get. He – unlike many other people she knew – looked past a the dark-colored hair to see what he considered to be the perfect person.

The night prior was certain proof of this – while Isara would have occupied her time making small adjustments to the Panzer IV before, she did something vastly different – though there was joking that Hans had finally stepped up the relationship, in reality he was far too timid for any such thing. Rather, he'd found a nice secluded clearing far enough from the night's camp for them to be unheard unless they needed help.

---The night prior---

Hans looked up at the sky, a small campfire having been formed, casting enough light to see each other. His hand was draped over her shoulder, a pulling the head of blue-colored hair close. The dying embers of the flame cast an orange-red light across the drowsy Darcsen's figure, and they both ignored the occasional jovial call from the main camp.

"Hans?" Isara asked softly.

The Southerner turned his head, so as to look into the pair of blue eyes he'd grown so fond of. "Yes, Is?"

Her reply wasn't vocal. The dying fire provided what seemed to be the perfect light – though, it prevented anyone from seeing Hans' face redden slightly. This kiss was unlike any of the ones prior, and he passively let her control the situation. That is, until she indicated that the kiss wasn't the end of it, at which point, he pulled back. The look on her face was easily that of confusion.

"What's wrong?" she asked, not expecting him to actually pull back.

"Nothing – at least, nothing you've done," was the response. "It's too risky – the last thing I want is, well..." He turned away, a bit embarrassed. "I... what if, I..."

She was surprised _she _didn't consider that – or perhaps she had, and disregarded it. "...Oh. I see."

Now that he'd brought it up, it did seem like a bad idea now. The battlefield was neither the place for child making or rearing, and there was a chance – a great chance, given the heavy losses suffered at the front as Germans marched for Stalingrad – that war could claim either of them.

"I would never stand for it – loosing you would be hard enough, but loosing you _and_ a child?" Hans turned back to face Isara. "And... the other way around. I couldn't stand to get myself killed, and leave you to raise a child yourself."

She lowered he head. "So, later..."

"..._much_ later, Is. Those are risks I _won't_ take. Not with you, not with anyone."

Their views returned to the dying fire.

--- End chapter 37 ---

**What am I thinking? I don't know. I can guarantee, though, I'm _not_ high.**

**I don't think I'm making Isara to OOC in her relationship with Hans Bieber (remember the German who got his 38(t) K-O'd early in France?), and I will confess – I actually have a couple of author characters. The one more closely resembling me (in actions, at least) is Bieber. I can't ask a girl out (and often times she was taken anyway). Adler's my more... 'repressed' feelings, and actually a Russian I intend to have show up is going to also have my more gung-ho Combat attitude.**

**So, a little bit of me is in this story in more ways than one.**


	38. A Familiar Face

**So I noticed something. The day I updated last was Valentine's Day – while the latter part of last chapter WAS fitting for the theme, the first part was basically the antithesis of romance.**

---Nondescript Day of a nondescript month of 1941---

The days had blurred together since Adler committed the act – that act which had, as far as Alicia was concerned, robbed her of both innocence and soul. The majority of her time, once occupied by baking and idle chatter with the men of the company, now was filled entirely with a cold silence and a sudden, forced cynical view of both the war, and the world as a whole. Happiness was completely worn into a combination of sadness and anger, and she hardly spoke – and when she did, it was often either 'yes' or 'no', and little else.

She'd stopped sending letters and telegrams to Welkin, partially because knowing how she'd fallen into this pit would surely send him into his own – though the tone he was using in more recent letters was that of the worried man, as her lack of response left him in total darkness concerning the status she was in. At least, until she stopped opening the envelopes they came in, placing herself in near-total seclusion, minus one person.

Catherine, the person who'd came to her rescue, was her sole contact with the outside world. In many ways, the markswoman was things Alicia wasn't – for one, she wasn't a victim to that horrid act committed by the Austrian.

"Alicia? My darling!" A somewhat familiar voice called out. "Oh, how I've..."

Noce was instantly silenced when he saw two things – not only wasn't she happy or comforted in seeing him, but he'd seemingly downright _angered _her.

"Leave, Wordsworth."

"Alicia...? What..."

"OUT."

The man found himself confused – he'd asked for a transfer to the company – to Alicia's group no less – in hopes of swaying her away from Welkin. It seemed that something precluded that, and he immediately thought his former CO had something to do with it.

"Alicia, please, let me..."

The stare she produced was one comparable only to one of Marina's. Possibly worse, given both eyes were used. Though he continued, staring into the blank, soulless-looking brown eyes, searching for any shred of the girl he'd attempted to win over. The seeming staring contest continued for several moments, until finally, Noce turned away.

"Who did this to you?"

Alicia remained silent, hoping the man would go away. It appeared that she wasn't going to get a moment alone until he knew what had transpired.

Which was _too damn bad_. She wasn't about to relive those events. "Rifleman Wordsworth, as your superior, I _order_ you to leave." Her tone was one that was clearly indicative of not backing down. She wanted to be alone, and if Noce was willing to disobey a direct order in order to stay, she could have the MPs on him faster than he could confess anything – ranging from love to murder, and everything in between.

"Order respectfully disobeyed. You need help, Ali..." He was silenced when she suddenly brought a knife to his throat, and a red glow to her eyes.

"How about this: Leave, or I'll cut you to ribbons?"

This narrowed things down quite rapidly for Noce: One, stay and attempt to console Alicia, and face either Death or the Gestapo, or leave, and attempt to talk to her at another time.

"Ok. I'm going." He quickly made his way for the door, quickly and quietly sticking a piece of paper – undoubtedly one of his poems – under her helmet.

Once the man had left, she looked at the helmet. It had the pattern of her old red headscarf painted on the rim, a personal touch after the incident with the Matilda tanks in France left a hole in her original one. While she'd later acquired a patch for it, she now permanently wore the helmet in combat, even when that blue glow she'd come to hate cast itself across the battlefield. It was also the helmet she wore when Adler forced his way into... she quickly tossed that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on the violation endured.

She picked the helmet up, holding the overturned coal-bucket shape, and looking at it like it was another person. Sighing quietly, the girl let the helmet fall in her hand, herself with it, until they both stopped, seated on the floor.

Alicia looked up at the folded paper, which was now perched above eye level. That paper – for all she cared, it was blank. In fact, she preferred that it be blank, though the depths of her mind quietly wondered what the note contained.

An hour passed, and Alicia was still on the floor, though she'd moved into a corner next to the bed. If someone had walked into the room, they'd have figured it empty, seeing neither Alicia's helmet or her. The intended effect – though a gentle knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. She bid no response, hoping that the person would leave her alone.

"Come now, Alicia. I know you're in there." The calm voice of Catherine wrought another sigh from the girl curled up in the corner.

The door opened, and the elder woman's figure stood in the doorway long enough to open it far enough to enter. She sat on Alicia's bed, near where the younger girl was sulking.

"Alicia – I've talked to the General about Dre... Adler, and von Esling's doing everything he can to bring Adler to justice."

Alicia looked up from her curled up, ball-like position. "_Wirtlich_?"

"Yes, but that's not why I came in here. We're all afraid for you – even Freesia's a bit worried, and you know how free-spirited she is. The Company's been in tatters since you secluded yourself, and I bet poor Welkin's died of heartache."

Alicia looked up into Catherine's eyes, then back to the floor. "I... I, wir..."

"Come with me." The Englishwoman extended her hand out to Alicia, who grabbed it after hesitating for a few moments.

The sudden pull the marksman produced not only brought Alicia to her feet, but also startled her. As she stood, Alicia still held her hand, allowing her elder to lead her out of her room and down the hallway. Nothing was really particularly interesting, as walls of gray and a floor of a darker shade of the most common color seen in the Wehrmacht. She still let the marksman lead on.

It was when they left the Officer's Quarters that things hit Alicia, and they hit her like a large stone. Tired faces smeared with dirt and grime, sweat, and blood, from the most recent skirmish – be it victory or defeat, the effect was similar.

Many other things had changed since she last left the quarters, as the ground had frost on it, indicators of the coming Winter, and the also upcoming push for Moscow. A tired-looking soldier looked at her – she could not tell if he was someone she once knew, for the face was masked by both a shadow and dirt – a smile came to the face, though, and a familiar – if deeper – voice came to her ears.

"Oh! Hello, Alicia!" None other than Ted Ustinov – while the face and overall appearance were hard to make out, it was quite easy to pick out the seemingly jovial tone, and that goofy smile. A fake smile – undoubtedly, an attempt to cheer her up – came to Ted's face. "Where have you been?"

Alicia did not cheer up - not visually, at least. She did, however, acknowledge Ted by speaking to him.

"It... it's been a while." Her tone was still down, though a familiar, somewhat happy sparkle appeared in her eyes, if only momentarily.

The would-be entertainer missed it, however, allowing the fake smile to fade from his mouth. "Yes. Yes it has." His tone was far more somber than she was used to – no doubt, the result of a drawn-on war and his tired state. "I heard what happened to you. I bet Welkin feels guilty that he couldn't protect you."

Alicia looked at Ted, who was now taller than her. "How is Welkin? And Isara?"

"I... don't know. The regiment was split up as result of the battle of Stalingrad. I haven't heard anything from the Captain since."

Stalingrad... she recalled a dream, faintly, she had back in 1940. It did not end well. "What do you remember?"

"What do I remember? Oh, damn, what _don't _I remember? Welkin nearly died when you stopped responding to his letters. And you know Bieber, the south German? Isara's practically engaged to him!"

Alicia remained blank-faced. "Well, Isara is probably very happy. As is Bieber." Her thoughts, however, drifted to Welkin. To know that, in her fall, she'd caused him pain was unbearable to her. At the same time, though, she still thought it better he be kept in the dark – at least, he would think that she might be leading a resemblance of a happy life in the German Armed Forces – an oxymoron in her opinion.

"Why was the company split?" Alicia's face and tone were still far more deadpan than the boy in front of her was used to. She wasn't sure, however, if that knowledge was what she wanted to know.

Ted glanced away. "Well..."

"We'd basically just arrived in the city. The Captain – Welkin, I mean – had just recovered from a wound suffered back in June. So, when Major Varrot passed down the orders for Welkin to have C-Company lead the charge into the city, it was just like his first op – only with less Imps. And we were the attackers."

"What happened, after that, was as we were charging into the City, the Marshal, Rommel, was re-assigned to the west – Africa, I think. He could pick a few officers to take with him, to be re-assigned to the division of his choosing. Obviously, he chose Welkin, and also Colonel von Luck. It all sorta went to bits from there – Soon after that, what was B-Squad got turned to mostly body bags, and the one survivor, Peter, also got shipped to North Africa. Soon enough, the Regiment was getting shipped off in four different directions. Isara and Bieber got assigned to the 16th Panzers, Welkin's sitting pretty in the 7th Panzers, and Juno..."

Alicia glared at Ted when he mentioned the bespectacled blonde.

"Juno just disappeared." Ted quickly made that up. "No clue what happened to her."

"Good." Alicia's mouth lowered into a half-frown. Her opinion of Coren wasn't high, so it was probably for the better that that thread just be dropped.

---End Chapter 38---

**I've pissed off my first fanboy! I've reached a turning point! :D**

**Be sure to leave a review. Flames will not be tolerated.**


	39. Encyclopedia

The (German) Weapons of Battlefield Gallia (Chapter 1-38)

**Armor**

**German Design:**

Panzer I: A light tank built in the early years of the modern Wehrmacht, it was armed only with a pair of MG-34 7.92mm machine guns. It saw considerable usage during the invasion of Gallia, though it was soon traded for the Panzer 38(t)/LT-38 from Czechoslovakia used on both sides of the invasion. Ironically, it was a joint development between Germany and Gallia that produced the Panzer I, along with its Gallian counterpart, the GPz.-1, which would never enter service.

Panzer II: An interim tank designed to be a stopgap between the Panzer I and what would later be the Panzers III and IV, the tank was the main vehicle used during the invasion of Gallia (along with its older, lighter brother, the I). As result, most fights between the German Pz. II and Gallian GPz.-2 were often decided by which side was more tactful in use of armor. While the 20mm aircraft cannon was inferior penetration wise to the 75mm cannons of the GPz.-2 ("Gallischer Panzerkampfwagen"), as a whole, the Panzer II outclassed its Gallian counterpart.

Panzer III: The heaviest tank to see use in the German-Gallian war (aside from the Matilda tanks on lend-lease from Britain), the Panzer III mounted a 50mm cannon in these variants, along with one or two MG-34 machine guns. It was the first German-built tank (aside from the A7V of the First World War) to be built and designed without direct input from Gallian designers, mainly being developed after the Nazis took power in 1933. It was intended to be a designated anti-tank tank (the anti-personnel roll to be filled by the Panzer IV), though the roles were quickly switched in France.

Panzer IV: Entering service one week too late to take part in the invasion of Gallia, the Panzer IV would see considerable use in the war against France and Britain. Originally mounting a stubby 75mm gun not unlike that of the GPz.-2, it was eventually given a longer gun of the same bore, granting a better antitank ability – an irony, considering that the tank was intended to be used against infantry and lighter vehicles (combat against enemy tanks would have been done with the Panzer III's high-velocity 50mm gun). Like the III, and like the GPz-2, it mounted 7.92mm machine guns in the turret, and hull.

Panzer V(D) "Panther": An experimental vehicle developed as a simpler version of the Pz. V(G)  
"Edelweiss", the D in the designation indicates that it was designed in Germany (thus, the tank is "Deutsch" as opposed to "Gallisch"). While lighter overall than the Edelweiss, the Panther was eventually considered the superior vehicle between the two, being cheaper to produce (due to a reduced amount of parts required for production, and requiring less time), in spite of being less reliable, thanks to rushed development. Like the later models of Panzer IV seen in 1943-46, the Panther often had "Schuetze" attached, preventing antitank weapons from striking the hull directly.

Panzer VI "Bengal/King Tiger": Originally a direct Germanization of the Edelweiss, the King Tiger (sometimes also referred to as the "Bengal Tiger" or "Royal Tiger") mounted an 88mm cannon over the Pz.-V(G)'s 82mm. It was also eventually decided by the vehicle's manufacturer, Henschel, to move it squarely into the Heavy Tank category by also providing it heavier armor than the Edelweiss. While this required a Ragnite engine be used to provide sufficient power to give the tank, it wasn't enough to allow the 68.5 tonne vehicle to travel any faster than 45 km/h – five kilometers slower than German-produced Edelweisses.

**Foreign Design:**

Panzer 35(t): Originally from Czechoslovakia, the Panzer 35(t) began life as the Skoda LT-35. It was often noted to come into combat with the GPz.-2, using a 37mm gun to great effect against the light Gallian tanks. Many were built for export to various eastern European nations – including Gallia, which received a shipment of 14 tanks mere months before Germany's annexation of the Sudetenland – and all were seized for use in the German Military.

Panzer 38(t): Used more commonly than the 35(t), the Pz. 38(t) was also a Skoda-designed tank, with exports headed for various nations. Between it and the 35, it was selected by the Gallian arsenal to be produced under license to supplement the GPz.-2. When the majority of the tanks to be shipped to Gallia where seized by the Wehrmacht, Gallia had only acquired three of the one-hundred tanks promised (the other 97 were later produced alongside the GPz-2).

Panzer II(G): The GPz-2, as used by the Wehrmacht. It saw limited service, being found not worthy of production for the German military. Many were used in tandem with the Renault FT-17, and schematics for a version with a modular weapons system were acquired, but later scrapped. It left service shortly before the invasion of Britain, all of the German military's 137 captured models being sold to Italy under Mussolini.

Panzer V(G) "Edelweiss": Captured during the invasion of Gallia, it became the staple of many German divisions, supplementing the Panzer IV, and eventually replacing it during 1941. While it was costly to produce (and Hitler demanded that no corners be cut in reproduction), the Edelweiss was exactly replicated for Wehrmacht use, production beginning in early March of 1940 (though the tank didn't officially enter service until June). Soon after the tank entered service, the tank was used as the base of a variant – the Jagdpanzer V(G) "Edeljaeger" ("Noble Hunter"), mounting Germany's locally built 88mm Pak 43. The 82mm gun was more than enough to trouble its British counterparts, though the King Tiger was better in combating designated antitank guns, such as the 17-pounder, and direct-fire 25-pounders.

-Panzerjaeger V(G) Edeljaeger: A designated anti-tank variant of the Edelweiss, it traded the turret-mounted 82mm gun for a heavier, longer 88mm gun mounted in the hull. It bore a heavy resemblance to the later Jagdpanther.

-Flakpanzer V(G): A variant of Edelweiss for anti-aircraft warfare. It mounted a 20mm Flakvierling, and had its armor reduced so to keep up with the main force. It was also effective against infantry, though it often didn't come into combat with them.

Panzer-1923-D: Imperial light tank purchased for German use in Gallia, and later France. The Krimm 85mm mortar in the hull was removed and replaced with twin-mounted MG-34 machine guns. Service in the Wehrmacht was short-lived, as the tank proved too light – all German models were destroyed or damaged beyond repair, and no orders were given for new ones.

Panzer-1936-D: Imperial medium tank purchased for German use in Gallia. Intended as interim models until medium tanks could be built in Germany itself, it was used alongside Panzer IIs as a meat shield. All the Imperial weapons were stripped before service, to create the 1936-D. The 76.2mm gun was replaced with a German-produced 75mm, and the 85mm – like on the 1923 – was replaced with twin MG-34s. The rear gun was also replaced with an MG-34.

Panzer-1939-D: Imperial heavy tank purchased for German use. Once again as a stopgap weapon, this massive vehicle was used in small numbers to combat the British "Sturm-Matildas" and Char B1 bis tanks encountered. The stubby 122mm hull gun was replaced with a full-length 88mm, firing a solid anti-armor round. This radically changed the tank's profile. The 76.2mm turret gun was also replaced with a 75mm, though it was hardly used, as the tank was often used as a self-propelled artillery piece. German use concluded in October 1941, as the tank had become far too large and easy for Soviet vehicles to hit.

**Infantry Weapons (Rifles, Machine Guns, etc.)**

**German-designed**:

Karbiner 98 kurz: The "short" version of Hitler's favorite rifle, the Karbiner 98. It was bolt action, making it unforgiving should the user miss, particularly when the person being fired upon often held a semi-automatic weapon, such as the Gallian or SVT-40. However, the reduced rate-of-fire encouraged marksmanship, thus allowing the Kar 98k to simply have a scope mounted, turning it into a potent sniper rifle.

Gewehr 40: Jokingly referred to as the "German" by Gallian troops in Wehrmacht service, the G40 was produced using design notes on the Gallian series of rifles. While it was longer than the carbine it drew from, the Mauser-produced weapon was little more than a Gallian made of different wood from the Black Forest than from Kloden, giving the rifle a darker finish.

MG-34: Germany's main machine gun, and the direct developmental precursor to "Hitler's Buzzsaw," the MG-42. Firing the same full-size 7.92x57mm Mauser round as the G40, K98 and Gallian series, the machine gun saw use as an infantry weapon, defensive measure, and also as a tank machine gun.

MP-38/40: The weapon of Nazi Germany as depicted by popular culture. Firing the common 9mm Parabellum round also used by the Mags series and ZM MP, the MP-40 was developed by Heinrich Vollmer in competition with the ZM MP series. While it lost out on the international market, the MP-38 was used to great effect in Gallia and later France and Britain. Service continues in the Soviet Union.

StG-41: Designed using the Gallian T-MAG 1 as a base, designers at Erma Werke produced a potent assault rifle firing a shortened version of the 7.92x57mm round. It was accurate enough to be used as a DMR, and had a fast enough rate of fire to be issued to assault troops. By 1943, most German troops had one of the rifles at some point in time, though Snipers generally retained G40s or K98s.

Panzerbuechse 39: While the Empire and Gallia were reliant upon the massive pointed lances for anti-tank combat, requiring to close to sometimes near-suicidal ranges in order to engage the target, Germany showed little interest until the Faustpatrone. The main anti-tank infantry weapon before the light grenade launcher was an antitank rifle, which was initially laughed at by Gallian analysts. When the high-velocity round tore into the GPz.-2, it became no laughing matter. It fired a 7.92x94mm round that could easily pose a massive threat to light armor.

Panzerfaust: While the VB PL and Lancaar were far too large and bulky for use in the highly-mobile Wehrmacht, they did serve as the basis of a smaller, more easily used weapon, called the "Panzerfaust" (lit. "Armor Fist"). While vastly smaller, for issue to Germany's assault troops ("Sturmtruppen"), it was also open on both ends, negating any and all recoil. The distinct shape of its forefathers was still present, though, but the Panzerfaust was small enough to also be stored in the packs of an assault trooper simply by stashing the tube – the stubby warheads were attached to the tube as needed, with three shots per trooper.

Handgrenatewerfer: Jokingly called the "Berliner", the Hgw was developed from the Randgrizer grenade launcher (the name translates literally as "hand grenade thrower"), and lobbed a Stielhandgrenate – Germany's famous Stick Grenade – up to 350 meters, often causing the grenade's seven-second fuse to cause it to detonate in mid-air, causing explosive force and fragments to become fair more deadly. It was often fired in a mortar-like arc by Gallian troops in Wehrmacht service, though the proper use was to use it mainly direct-fire (close range was expected to use a common stick grenade thrown by hand).

Walther P38: The standard issue pistol for German servicemen and -women, the P38 fires Germany's common 9mm round used also in the MP38/40. It is hard to find a German soldier without a P38.

Walther PPK: The weapon famously used by James Bond, the PPK was also used by Hitler's military – in fact, it was the weapon Hitler used to kill himself deep in the Fuehrerbuenker at the end of WWII in Europe.

**Foreign Designs:**

ZM Kar: To fill a gap created by Germany's initial lack of a semiautomatic rifle, ZM corp sold approx. 1,300 ZM Kar weapons to the Wehrmacht, all of which were used from 1939 in Gallia, to early 1941, before the invasion of the Soviet Union. They continued service until war's end, issued, due to their short length and semi-decent accuracy, to the Fallschirmsjaeger, where they remained. Many of them were destroyed, and as result, they are a commodity among collectors, with working models being rarer.

ZM MP: Seeing little use in the Wehrmacht, ZM Corp's most well-known weapon saw negligible German service. It is, however, rumored Hitler keeps a MP2 over his shoulder.

Gallian: Named because it was the first rifle developed in Gallia, the Gallian series was used in conjunction with the Karbiner 98k and ZM Kar in France and Britain. The Wehrmacht expressed preference for the "S" series, and the later Gewehr 40 used the Gallian S-1 as its base. The vanilla model by 1939 – the Gallian 4 – were mainly converted into their Mauser-produced counterparts. Walther arms also produced an anti-tank rifle version of the most advanced of the S-series, though the design was unsuccessful.

Lancaar/VB PL: Neither of these weapons saw major front-line use – however, they were used directly in the development of the Panzerfaust.

FN Browning High Power: Designed by John Browning and built by FN (who would later design the FN FAL and other weapons), the High Power was issued to the Wehrmacht elite (it is also Alicia's unused sidearm), and is also the pistol of choice for the Fallschirmsjaeger.

---End Entry---

**I know, I know. Encyclopedia Expositoria isn't a chapter, but it should help tide you over until I finish the actual Ch. 39. I've actually been planning one of these for quite a while (back in France, actually), but never got around to finishing it. I'll probably do a second one of these sometime near the end of the fic.**


	40. Munich

---22nd December, 1941, Munich, Germany---

Welkin tossed a quick look over to the blond head of hair currently in the bunk. She slept peacefully, putting him at ease. Her glasses on the nightstand beside the bed gave clear indicator as to who was beside him.

At one point, he'd be deeply troubled by this thought – one of sleeping with another woman. But since Alicia had cut him off a few months ago, he felt that the brunette no longer cared for him. It had left him totally depressed – but, something happened. Or rather, someone. Juno was on the bed still, quietly dozing. It troubled him to have to wake her up – she was quite surprisingly braving her allergy to metal simply to stay alongside him, and she was making for a great adjutant.

"Lieutenant Coren," he said, a odd-yet-light sternness in his voice. She moaned, indicating that she was now slowly waking up.

"Now, you and I both know that'll take too long, Captain Gunther," a voice said. The Voice put his fingers to his lips, and produced a shrill whistle, startling his more direct subordinate, and also the still-sleeping, recently promoted lieutenant.

Rommel stifled a slight chuckle as he watched Juno tumble out of the bed, and also at the look on Welkin's face. "There. Much better. Somehow, you've captured the attention of a man in a very high place, Captain – the Leader wants to see you."

Welkin turned to Juno, then back to Rommel. If Hitler had sent the General-Field Marshal to relay this to him, it was probably very important – and very politically charged. "Don't worry," Welkin said to Juno, "I'm sure it's nothing too important."

The blonde head appeared on the other side of the bed, a pair of blue eyes looking in Welkin's direction. She nodded, putting her glasses on in time to see the pair of German officers disappear.

The pair of them marched down the hall, the click of heels against wooden floors sounding throughout – not only from them, but from the passing guards. It was a fairly tall hallway – Welkin somewhat remembered it from during 1939, after Gallia's fight was lost.

"Alright, this is it, Captain," the General-Field Marshal said, moving to a door with a pair of SS members from the 'Adolf Hitler' division. After a quick exchange of forced Hails, the black-uniformed men let the two army officers in.

He sat in a chair, facing towards the two of them. The tan of his own uniform contrasted with those worn by his guards and soldiers, but seeing him in the same drab grays and blacks wasn't unheard of. That toothbrush mustache was unmistakable, and Welkin again found himself in the company of Germany's Leader.

"Munich is a beautiful place, is it not?" Hitler said in a conversational tone, far different than the one used for rallies and speeches. He looked up at Welkin and Rommel in front of him, and behind them, a pompous officer not unfamiliar to any of them.

Welkin forced out the required "Hail Victory," and Rommel did the same. Damon simply produced the salute – somehow exempt from needing to produce a similar call. It was a miracle that he was even in that gray uniform, though, as incompetent as High Command considered him to be. Hitler was unamused when the words "oh, God no," were mouthed by Rommel and Gunther, but let it slide. More important matters were to be tended to. Namely, the Valkyria deployed with Damon's 21st Infantry division wasn't aiding in Germany's conquest for what Hitler considered trivial reasons. While it was easy to see that the man standing before the four officers held no understanding of Lieutenant Melchiott's predicament, he also held no intention to understand.

"My leader," Welkin began, the words sour in his mouth, "You... called me in here for a reason, right?"

The head of Nazi leadership nodded. "Yes – there was a point in time when our Valkyria was in a relationship with you, correct? That should mean you, out of everyone in this room and military, should know what it wants?"

Welkin nodded to Hitler. "What _she_ wants – and... I don't know. Not anymore, my leader..."

"What do you mean... 'not anymore'?"

The words dried up in Welkin's mouth. Ever since they'd be separated, the relationship was strained to breaking point and past it. He didn't know Alicia anymore – it seemed, though, he was the only person present who knew her at all. "Well, my leader... she, stopped responding to my letters a few months ago."

"Yes, but I assume it wouldn't be too far of a guess to attempt to figure out what she would want, correct? Based on what you know..."

"My leader, if I may speak," Rommel interrupted, prompting a frustrated look on Hitler's face, "what Captain Gunther knows and what Lieutenant Melchiott is could be two entirely separate things. It would be far too great of a wager to assume that she's remained entirely static to the day he left."

Frustrated look fading, Adolf nodded. "I suppose so, Sir Rommel. Though, I suppose the best person to ask would be Damon, who came here from the front to discuss this." He motioned to the largest of the officers.

"My leader, Sir Hitler," Damon's gravelly voice began, "I think she just needs to get her fighting spirit back. If anything, keep her on the front. Give her some sort of order that will force her to fight, and fight hard..."

"...and how do you suppose he do that? Ali... Lieutenant Melchiott isn't some weapon, where you can just field-strip her and get the grime out of her. She's a person as much as you and I, Damon, and..."

"You were not permitted to speak, Captain," Hitler interrupted. "Let the General..."

"The captain is right," Rommel counter-interrupted. "We cannot expect her to fight for us, simply because we tell her to. She's probably tired and weary – lord knows that after what as happened to her..."

"...What happened to her?" Welkin wasn't normally this assertive – while he'd moved on for the most part from Alicia, to say he didn't still care for her was contradictory, like saying he also didn't like nature.

"Nothing that concerns you – My Leader, may I have guards escort the Captain out?" Damon was fed up with Welkin – he still considered him to be a threat to his own agenda.

Rommel silenced Damon with a glare. "He deserves to know, Georg. Do you know what affect it had on MY subordinate to have her torn away." The General-Field Marshal turned to the Captain. "Gunther – during the month of July, I believe – do you remember a Sargent Adler?"

Welkin looked down. "He didn't..."

"He did – I believe that it was a major contributing factor as to why Mel..." Rommel thought for a moment before continuing, "Alicia, I mean, has avoided the front." He turned away from Welkin, more directly facing Hitler. "My leader – I believe that a break of some sort might brighten the Valkyria up. After what she's endured, asking her to fight would be a bit like trying to get a division of peasants to fend off a corps of tanks. They might get a few of them, but they will break with time."

Hitler sighed. "I believe so. Damon, I want you to pull her from the front and keep her in Randgriz. Do not, however, let the Russians find out, or they will surely exploit it. Gunther, I want you to stay."

The two generals left. Welkin remained in front of Hitler, though. A few minutes were spent in silence, as the captain waited for the Austrian dictator's word.

After the seemingly eternal silence, Hitler broke the quiet. "What... was the extent of your relationship with the Valkyria?" Adolf's tone was one of speaking down to the Gallian.

"That's a bit intimate, my leader," Welkin responded, slight nervousness in his voice.

Tan shoulders arose and fell. "I still want to know – exactly how far did you take things?"

If any other man in the world had asked him this, he would have simply shrugged it off. However, this was Herr Hitler asking this, and shrugging him off was a good way to get so many SS on you, that you had to ask permission to breath. "We... were..." it was difficult to explain, "My leader, why exactly do you want to know?"

Hitler shrugged. "Because I think it would help me end our problems with the Valkyria."

The way he used the term 'Valkyria' bothered Welkin. He used it in the same way as he'd use 'Plane' or 'Tank', and Alicia wasn't an object. "Sir Hitler – she has a name. It's Alicia Melchiott."

The unamused look on the Austrian's face implied he didn't care what her name was, the important thing was that she was a Valkyria. "Gunther – the Valkyria is troubling us, and you in turn trouble me by giving me Trivial Matters Unrelated TO THE QUESTION AT HAND? **WHAT WAS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THE VALKYRIA**?!"

Welkin was taken aback by Hitler's sudden raise in volume to his speech-giving voice. It was much louder in person – especially when you stood no less than meter and a half from him. "Uh... we were... engaged... somewhat..."

" 'Somewhat'? How can you be 'engaged somewhat'?" Hitler was still obviously frustrated with Welkin, though he wasn't shouting anymore – certainly, a step in the right direction.

"Well – before we left for Army Group South, we... I'd bought a ring for her – I still have it, though I don't know what to do with it..."

"That is out of the question – the question which you have FINALLY answered." Hitler turned away from Welkin. "I will call you back, Captain. Until then, leave."

The Gallian Captain saluted. "Yes, my leader," he called, as necessary, mentally adding, _willingly_.

As the door shut behind him, Welkin walked away from the two members of the SS. Guilt was coming to him – in the months of separation, Alicia had endured far more than she'd had to prior. He felt that he'd failed to protect her, from Adler, and from whatever unsaid horrors she'd endured.

In the pit of his heart, he knew that he still loved her. It was impossible not to – while they had spent months separated – and that separation was cruel and brutal to both of them, though seemingly more for her than him – they had shared too much for it to simply be forgotten.

"Welkin?" The girl's voice startled him to a degree – the suddenness of it pulling him from his thoughts.

"Ah!" He looked over at the voice's origin – Juno stood there, dressed in her freshly-pressed uniform, the garrison cap perched atop her head not unlike the one he used to wear.

"Sorry," the bespectacled blonde said, a slight smile on her face – undoubtedly due to last night's interactions. "So, The Leader doesn't call in low-level captains for small reasons. What was that about?"

"He's having Valkyria problems..." the Captain began, before the girl cut him off.

"It was about Alicia, wasn't it?" There was no fooling the recently promoted lieutenant. "I know he's a bit off, but doesn't he have researchers a bit more well suited for that?"

Welkin shrugged. "I suppose so – but if anyone knows her the best, it's me. He knew, Juno, so that might be why..."

She nodded, as a friend more than as the inferior officer, to Welkin. "So, because you loved her, Hitler wanted to see you?"

The look beneath the peaked hat was very bland. "Yeah. That'd be it."

The two remained silent, as they left for the training fields.

---End Chapter 40---

**Yes, yes. I know, I know. Encyclopedia Expositoria != Chapter. But that little thing at the end helps me keep my mind straight on what number things are on.**

**Be sure to review. If you skipped last chapter, nothing actually happened. Just lots of guns and descriptions of them.**


	41. Not Very Magical Guy Zaka

**Since the last chapter was dated for Dec. 22nd, that means...**

---3rd Corps ("Darcsen Corps"), US Army, North Africa, December 24th, 1941---

Finally. They could finally liberate their brethren from the oppressive hold of the Nazis. When the United States declared war on the joint German-Imperial force, he'd nearly leaped into the air in the presence of half the senate, and the entire congress (and each and every one of his superiors), though the General had contained himself. He now had the ability to keep a promise he'd made to Gallia's princess – he would take her country from the tyrannical hands of Fascism, or die trying.

There was only one problem – Gallia was entirely east of the Elbe river, but Steven would deal with that problem later. Right now, though, he had freshly arrived in the sandy plains of North Africa, where his first opponent of the war (exercises not withstanding) would be one Erwin Rommel and the Afrika Corps that he'd brought with him from Russia. He would personally see to it that not a single member of the Nazi armies in Africa would live to fight. In his mind, such inhumanity was perfectly justified. His people had suffered for hundreds of years since the Valkyrur walked across Europa, and he was angry, if backwards, at the Empire and Germany for carrying on this atrocity. An eye, for an eye.

There was only one exception to this rule: "Das Reich's Walkyueria", which Steven intended to turn on its former owners, should it manage to fall into his hands. After a quick dying of hair (to purple, of course), it would come as quite a shock to Wehrmacht high command when...

"General? President Roosevelt's on the line." The calm voice of the single non-Darcsen in the corps, Colonel Robert Townes, pulled 3rd Corps' commander from his thoughts. The fiery red hair contrasted heavily with the blues and purples of the rest of the entire corps, but he was easily the best of Steven's officers.

"Hmpf. Of course, he calls for me, the damned pacifist," the Darcsen grumbled. "Took the Krauts bombarding a base in Puerto Rico to get all those liberals on the right track." He turned to his subordinate. "What's he want?"

"It concerns your command vehicle – the M7, sir."

The M7 heavy tank, developed to combat the likes of the German King Tiger and Imperial P-1939. While the latter was being phased out, the former was still going strong, meaning that the M7 was also going to stick around, somewhat. The project itself was canceled, and no orders made for a shipment of the tanks.

"What about it?"

"It'll be a while before they can get it here. You'll have to use a Stuart."

Steven grumbled. "A Stuart. A damned M3 Stuart. One of those little pieces of shit? How do the expect me to lead from a tin can?"

Townes shrugged. "You're a smart man, General, you can figure something out."

That upper-class New Yorker accent sometimes bothered Steven, but he was certain that his own southern drawl bothered Townes.

"...At least, in the exercises, you performed excellently no matter what vehicle you used. We could probably give you an old FT-17 and still have you out there, slugging it out with those King Tigers the Nazis are using."

Steven nodded. "You're right. Even if it was totally suicidal."

"That's the spirit, Stevie-boy!"

Steven frowned. "You're not Jack, so you don't get to call me 'Stevie'. You know that, Robert. You'd hate it if I called you Bobby."

---

Zaka stood face to face with his platoon's commander. The man, one Lieutenant Zachary, was eying him in a similar way to a Jeweler to a diamond. It sort of made the sargent a bit uneasy, being examined so closely.

"Gallian, eh?" Zachary said. "But that accent's definitely Kraut."

Zaka shrugged. "Vell, ve Gallians, ve shpeek Juhrmann. So zhat's a bit natueral, is it not?"

"Still don't like it."

All the Gallian could do was shrug. "Then I suppose I should stop messing with you, eh?"

Zachary's jaw nearly dropped. "Wait... if you can speak with... what?!"

"It humors me. We all have our quirks."

"Yeah, but... you're NOT Gallian?"

"I'm as Gallian as can be. My accent's just good."

A few moments of staring were resultant of the sudden revelation. An end result of being a factory worker, Zaka had picked up on English thanks to many of the customers either being British or American, and they often came to him. The wear of time saw his accent getting better by the day, and you certainly couldn't tell that he wasn't native to the British isles based on the accent. It was little wonder, once that was taken into consideration, that the Gallian had a slight Cockney accent.

"So... the tanks? This is a tank division, right?"

Zachary nodded. "Uh... yeah... tanks are this way, sargent." And they were 'this way', for the only thing standing between them and a bunch of M3 Stuarts was a simple wall of canvas to keep the sand out. They were different from your average Stuarts, though, as the pattern painted onto them was only one of a few indicators.

Something else was a longer gun, and attached armor covering the treads and turret. It was rudimentary, but necessary for the light tanks to even have the slightest portion of a chance against heavier German vehicles.

"So, these are the tanks," Zaka mused to himself.

---Krupp testing grounds, Germany---

Hitler looked at this new Edelweiss variant. It was the cumulation of the development that took place to make sure the Panzer V(G) remained up to date with its Russian and now American counterparts. This version, Model B, had a bulging mount for the gun, and also held within its fortified turret, a massive howitzer. It surprised him that such a machine could come from a German factory, for the prospect of the 10.5 cm leFH 18 cannon being used to combat enemy tanks as opposed to fire support would surely create the ultimate tank hunter out of the Edelweiss.

"How soon can you replace production?" he asked, turning to the man behind him. It was the Edelweiss' main go-to man for design input, and remained on hand whenever Adolf came to inspect.

"We're supplementing production of the Model A with the B, my leader," he replied. "But the Wehrmacht hasn't fielded them yet, so we're also making a package to apply armor to the A model."

Hitler glared at Ackermann, as the designer concluded.

"Well, then, why don't you stop making the package? I will not have my army fielding obsolete equipment. Look at Mauser and the G40. Henschel and the Bengal Tiger."

Ackermann looked at Hitler like he what he'd said was impossible. "My leader, the Model B isn't meant to be a main combat vehicle, it's more for support fire..."

"I don't give a damn!" Hitler grunted. "All I know and care is that the 10.5 cm outclasses the 8.2 cm currently mounted in the A model. Switch production to the B model, as soon as possible."

Ackermann nodded. "Yes, my leader." Not wanting to have the SS pay a visit to his house, he quickly set off to relay to Krupp's factories to switch production from the A to the B model. "My Leader, what shall we do with the A model tanks still in production?" he asked, before leaving completely.

"Convert them. Finish them. What have you." Hitler waved his hand in the air as he said this, indicating that he really didn't care what happened to the A model, he just wanted B model tanks out.

---End Chapter 41---

**Sorry for the delay, but better late than never, right? I recently used the Level 3 barrel upgrade in game – while I still prefer the body upgrade, I must give that nice thick gun barrel credit – it was practically an antitank sniper. Use that as the mental image for the Panzer V(G) Ausf. B (I'll get other versions in, too.)**

**Leave a review plz. :D**


	42. Brush in with death Redux

---Russia, Soviet Union, 21st January, 1942---

A Russian lieutenant looked out of the cupola of his T-34/76. His was a small detachment of men, equipped with little, but expected to do much in the way of the Motherland's defense. Looking over his men, with little more than a pair of BT-7Ms and some infantrymen, he cricked his joints and stretched himself.

"This operation requires that we keep the Fascists from taking the refinery to our north! 13th Platoon, roll out!" Alekzander Vladmiriov shouted to his men, perched atop the T-34. He slammed the cupola's door down with him, as he directed men to the finer points of the plan. Since they expected the forces to come from more than one direction, they had to split up.

One of the BT-7Ms, along with a fair amount of the Lieutenant's antitank riflemen, rolled northward. Vladmiriov himself stayed more or less in the south, keeping the rest of his troops and himself to the with him. This was the bad thing about facing two enemies – it left Soviet troops a bit stretched thin. While there were a few tanks guarding the refinery, the likes of the German and Imperial monsters rendered the tanks almost defenseless.

Feeling he would not see his light tanks again, Vladmiriov shrugged. He'd learned not to grow attached to his men and machinery, for the Fascists could flatten them easily. But, the difference would be in blood, for all he cared. He knew those light tanks would give their all to defend the Motherland, and expected nothing short of that.

---Germans---

A constant clanking sound was heard within the steel confines of the Panther tank, undoubtedly the sound of the treads rolling across the ground. Isara peered out of the driver's periscope, spotting a line of the once-dreaded Russian tanks, which opened fire on their heavier, more powerful German counterparts as they crossed into firing range. A deafening roar was heard throughout the vehicle she drove, as a round struck the Panther's front armor, rocking the vehicle.

Her commander instructed the tank to come to a halt, and she obliged. Undoubtedly, because they were going to fire back at the Red Army tanks, which wasn't surprising, as a second time, the tank rocked, this time from its own gun. Though the bore of the Panther's gun was smaller, it did not mean that it was the lesser weapon – as the crew receiving the shell could attest to, a massive cloud forming, as a grayish puff of fragments and smoke formed at the front of the impacted tank's hull. A small smile came to her face – while she never fired the gun, she was quite satisfied with the long 75mm cannon's performance. It did give her a sense of power she normally did not feel, a near godlike experience, to an extent.

That gruff voice of the commander again, and the tank rolled forward. While his voice was barely heard over the sound of the treads, engine, and now the machine gunner beside her, she knew the man well enough to know how he operated. She kept her eye on one of the Edelweisses in front of her – the only one bearing a Darcsen pattern on the 82mm gun. This was Hans' tank, which was a fair bit from front and center of the assault, but a bit too close for her liking, though the machine's armor was, for the most part, shrugging off the rounds from the T-34s.

Another gray dust cloud formed from a Russian tank, as the German forces advanced quickly on the refinery, slaughtering many of the Russian soldiers before they even had the chance to retaliate. German infantry dismounted, looking out for any surviving enemy combatants, sweeping the area clean of the green uniformed troops. Shouts were heard – Isara couldn't make them out over the sound of the engine's growl, as the Panther came to another halt. A knocking was heard against the steel plates, particularly her own door, and she opened it, poking her head out.

The tank's commander was holding his submachine gun, motioning for her to cut the engine, which she did. This was an obvious indicator that they wouldn't be going anywhere, at least for a short while, so they saved the petrol and ragoline for actual travel and combat. Isara pushed herself up out of the tank's hull, and pulled the headset off from around her neck, and looked around for Hans. This was made easier, to a degree, because he'd taken to wearing a Darcsen-pattern kerchief around his neck, if he was looking at her. Which, as it so happened, he was not, but rather, conversing with 'Hermann', the Lieutenant. While she doubted that was his name, everyone called him that, and he didn't seem to mind it, either.

"Hans?" she called out, attempting to get the man's attention. Five other men also looked in her direction - obviously, other Hanses. She had to get specific. "Hans _Beiber!_" All but one of the men turned away, and that man was exactly who she was looking for.

She smiled upon seeing him, and in spite of a considerable amount of meters standing between them, a smile could be (somewhat) seen on his face as well. Quickly bidding 'Hermann' goodbye, he walked over to the Darcsen tanker - the only head of blue hair in the entire group. He silently said 'hello', and she silently replied. Of course, to some schmuck, like Hermann, this seemed to only be the two staring at each other.

---Russians---

The cross hairs had leveled with the most opportune target among the dismounted German tankers. The only two that the sniper could get a bead on were also lined up perfectly to wound - if not outright kill - both. This was the perfect shot, in her mind, and at this point. While two measly tankers would barely halt the Axis advance, it would add two kills to her score - which meant two less Germans to worry about. She adjusted to make the shot, and squeezed on the trigger.

A moment sooner, and two dead fascists would have lay on the ground. But rather, Lyudmilla was as human as anyone else on the battlefield, sans those wretched Valkyria the fascists had. While one of them was dead and buried, the other was still hell. This wasn't the problem though, as a somewhat loud 'click' was heard in place of the loud 'bang' of the Tokarev firing. She swore quietly, and the two Germans disappeared behind something, saved only by pure luck.

A Darcsen shawl once hidden by it's wearer's comrade caught her eye, and she could easily see that the woman wearing it was as much a stinky dark-hair as the presumably flea-ridden fabric. The Soviet sniper quickly tried to reload her rifle, but by the time a round was chambered, the target had disappeared. Pavlichenko quickly memorized the Darkhair's face, and would see her sent to the grave. She would let no fascist - and certainly no _inferior_ fascist, at that - escape from her sights.

But, for all intents and purposes, she hadn't pulled the trigger. No round had left the barrel, and no Germans were dead, and the only plus was that she hadn't given herself away, which meant that she was still under cover, and something came to mind: A battery of Katyushas, a pair of binoculars, a radio. Mix well, and enjoy the fireworks. While it would flatten the refinery, it was better to have no refinery at all than to have the enemy capture it. She loaded her rifle, in case some Germans DID find her, set it aside where she could grab it quickly, and set about doing the math. What the enemy's co-ordinates were, and how long it would take them to hear the moaning of the rockets leaving their racks.

The look on their faces would be wonderful. The marksman attempted to imagine it as she said the co-ordinates of the refinery into her radio. Moments after she concluded, moaning sound was heard. It was no crack of a rifle, but it would certainly ensure that - if she didn't die - the darkhair would certainly have her head messed with beyond any degree of doubt. That would do perfectly.

But then something occurred to her: in place of a loud moaning, a distant grinding sound was heard. Tank treads. Why were they using tanks when the German armor clearly surpassed them?

She looked back to see advancing Russian armor - and vehicles she had never seen before.

---Germans---

Isara was completely unaware of how close she'd came to losing both Hans and herself, happily walking to a semi-private area to converse. This was when a call came out from Hermann: "Enemy armor approaching! Get back in your tanks!"

A sigh escaped the Darcsen's mouth, as she quickly ran back to her vehicle. While the prospect of talking with what she jovially called 'Her German', it seemed Ivan had other plans. She probably wouldn't even need to close the her hatch, such a short engagement was expected. This did not effect the fact that there would BE an engagement, though, but she tried to keep what she'd wanted to say on her mind.

At least, until she saw these new Soviet tanks. They were unlike any others she - and everyone else - had ever seen.

---End Chapter 42---

**Please review for reals this time.**


	43. You Basterd!

---Munich, Germany, 1st February, 1942---

Welkin sat himself on his bed, thinking. Juno had gone off to her own room, something about a strange queasiness she'd been having lately. Wearing only the black SS uniform he'd been given in order to fit in with a group of the Leader's officers when he spoke with Alicia, to cheer the baker up, he let out an estranged sigh, as he tossed the red armband off and away in some direction. Predictably, she was horrified to see him in the black garb of what was currently his SS uniform, which he intended to discard soon. He scratched his head, and also tossed the hat aside. A lot of good that visit did, but she'd be staying in Munich for a while, so hopefully the next time they saw each other he could fill her in on the ill-played, if somewhat well-intended, ruse.

Quickly changing into sleeping clothes, the captain pulled the covers up, and stared up at the ceiling, unaware of the presence now standing in the partially open doorway, and quietly and slowly advanced, amazingly not making the slightest sound, until it was beside the Gallian's bed. The a slight glint reflected the moonlight, the only source of light in the darkened room, as the lightly-sleeping officer awoke, and looked over in time for a hand to suddenly clap down over his mouth.

Panicking, Welkin tried to fight this man off. In the night, a distinctive face he had seen about the base and a head of brown hair made it clear that it was one of the sergeants on the base.

One sergeant Hugo Stiglitz, as the blade plunged tip first into Welkin's face, was withdrawn, and was thrust inward again repeatedly, scattering blood across the white materials of the pillows, and the gray ones of the attacker's uniform. All this without a scream. The sergeant left as quickly as he'd come, after wiping the blade clean on Welkin's fake SS uniform.

---Moscow, Soviet Union, 2nd February, 1942---

Ted scratched a spot covered up underneath his helmet, about the only thing he COULD do at the moment. But the big thing was, the only thing standing between him, his mates and Red Square was the city of Moscow. And what an obstacle that was, as well. Quickly using a Torakev he'd picked up as a scratching post to reach some spot on his back he couldn't get, he realized how much he hated wearing stolen greatcoats for the umpteenth time that week.

"Can't the Reds just give up so we can all go home?" a female voice whined. His own training told him it was Nancy's. He let out a slight chuckle before replying.

"Oh, you know the Krauts. They'll just find some other god-forbidden place to invade. Like the middle east or something." Though, at the moment, given how his ass had already dropped off from the cold, that didn't sound too bad. The smile left as soon as it came, and he then said, "If we're going to talk about something, can we talk about something that DOESN'T relate to the Ivans?"

The bespectacled brunette entered a short stint of thought, before asking, "How do you think Lieutenant Gunther's doing? We haven't heard much from that direction since Gallia."

Ted shrugged, but the makeshift leader of the small detachment butted in before either could speak. "Ok, enough. A bit of chatter's fine, but both of you know each other quite well," Senior Rifleman Frederick Zoller said in a predictably cold tone for a sniper. "He's probably fine anyway. Last I heard he got moved to Munich."

Ted chuckled lightly, slight hints of his prior self shining through. "Yeah, sounds like it." Rifle in hand, he carefully looked out into the debris of the once-beautiful city of Moscow. Melville'd probably be a bit jealous of him right now – hell, the better part of the old Squad 7 might be envious, getting to see somewhere as far as Moscow and Red Square. But, while he'd wanted to see Russia, he hadn't wanted to see it as the unwilling member of a massive invading army, who, undoubtedly, would be remembered as pure evil. He himself knew otherwise, but what happened after the war he had little concern of at the moment. What was of concern was the gun that had kept them trapped inside the bombed out remains of what looked to be some sort of store, and what exactly to do about it.

All day, he, Nancy and Zoller had somehow gotten stuck with a DP machine gun constantly rattling away, and the only thing standing between them and a hailstorm of machine gun fire was some bricks and mortar. It was cover, but it was starting to give out. "Why don't you just blow that damned Ivan's head off?" Ted asked to the highest ranking member of the outfit, semi-jokingly. Predictably, Zoller's eyes rolled.

"I prefer my head attached to the rest of my body, Ustinov. It would be wise of you to keep that in mind."

Ted shook his head. "Well, I frankly have shit I would like to tend to that doesn't involve getting shot at by an Ivan gun all damn day. Which was the same Ivan gun that's been shooting at us since late yesterday, I might add."

It was at that point, the gunfire stopped. Ted poked his head out from behind the wall, and saw a DP machine gun laying on the ground, along with at least seven expended drums and countless casings, as well as a pistol and a helmet. The Russian's hands were in the air, and the Gallian scout took this time to look at Red Square.

"Well, I'll be a... Zoller! Nancy! Look! They secured Red Square!" Ted directed his finger down at the Kremlin, and the red flag which had flown for days atop it was still a red flag, but it no longer had a speck of yellow on it, save for patches applied here and there of stolen enemy uniforms, to keep it semi-flyable. The main feature of the flag, a giant black swastika, was intact, though. It symbolized one thing.

Nancy removed the steel helmet she'd worn for god knows how long, and looked up at it. Zoller smirked.

"WHO WANTS TO SEND A MESSAGE TO GERMANY?!" the sniper shouted, at any Russians near by.

"So, is this it? Is the war over?" Nancy calmly asked, looking at the two men near her. "Can we finally take a break."

Ted shrugged. "I have no clue. No joking, no nothing. I just haven't the slightest clue, what with the States getting involved. And Russia is a big place, too..."

---End Chapter 43---

**DUHNAAA. DUHNAAA. DUHNAAA. HUGO... STIIIIGLIIITZ. And Frederick Zoller? Inglorious Basterds? In MY fic? More likely than you think!**

**Be sure to leave a review. You don't, I'm callin' over the Bear-Jew. (Clack, Clack, Clack...)**


	44. Sauerkraut Eaters

--Moscow, Soviet Union, 3rd February, 1942--

Ted looked at the SVT he still held after the battle, mentally musing about the many things he could do with it. Nancy and that other guy, Zoller, sat on respective pieces of Kremlin. While, for all they cared, they were at peace, as they set about killing time inspecting captured weapons and filing nails down and various other time-killing things, both men and woman now left with nothing to do.

Nancy chuckled lightly, more so to herself than to the others. "For the longest time I've been wanting free time. Now that I have it," she stopped talking for a second, shifting her rifle in her lap, "I have no clue what to do with it."

A chuckle from the would-be comedian indicated his agreement. "You to, Nancy?" he jokingly said, placing the Tokarev down gently. "We can't exactly go anywhere. Just about our only hope is that we get sent to the west. Man, actually I'd stand for some non-negative temperatures."

Nancy sighed. "Yeah."

_The rattling of a German machine gun forced GIs down behind the closest resemblence of cover around._

Ted leaned back a bit. "Actually, I wouldn't be too surprised if we get sent that way. With Moscow with our flag flying over it..."

"_Frag out!" a US Grenadier called out, tossing a pineapple-shaped explosive over the simple brick wall, a shark 'kersh!' indicating the explosion._

"...I wouldn't be too surprised if the Germans, such as Zoller..."

"Very funny," the marksman said unhumorously.

"_Shit! I'm out!" a Johnson LMG gunner shouted. "Cover me!"_

"_Got it, sir!" a rifleman shouted, as he finished shoving a second stripper clip into the M4 Johnson rifle._

"Whatever, man. Take a joke."

---Liverpool, England, US Army 501st Infantry Division---

"FUCK! TAKE OUT THAT GUN!"

Harold looked in the direction the call had come out in, forcing more .30-06 rounds into the Johnson he held.

"Goddamn krauts!" he said semi-loudly. "This ain't our damn war..."

The explosion of a stick grenade stopped his musing momentarily, but he kept his head down to keep talking to himself.

"I mean, the Nips I get, but for cryin' out loud? I hate those sauerkraut eaters as much as the guy down the block, but what reason we got?"

Harold's sergeant, the Reising-armed Adam Wade, served as a less-temporary distraction from the groan. "Maldonado, you bitchin' again?"

"Well, what else does one do while getting shot at? Have tea? Whatya want, Sarge?"

A sharp thunk on his head changed the private's attitude real fast. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"For mouthing off. Be lucky I don't court-martial your ass." Adam sat back against the bank of dirt once reserved for the grenadier. "You got M8's?"

"Hell yeah, I do. Do you got something to drop 'em on?"

Adam glared. "Stupid question, Mald."

"Well, what would a smart one be?"

Another thunk, and the sergeant pointed out at a group of enemy troops. Some of them had a blue armband, but all would explode into a flurry of red – Harold's second-favorite job, behind finding something with a ragnite radiator and shoving an HE round up its ass.

Stuffing a pill-shaped round down into the 30mm cup under the barrel of his rifle, the Grenadier leveled the M8 with the machine gun nest. "Frag out!", followed by a sharp 'thump' from the propellant, was the indication to friend and foe that the explosive had left the barrel.

Dirt flew in all directions, and the redheaded scout pressed her face down into it. At some point, what she'd just done would have never even been on the table – but that point was well over two years ago. The dull gray of the German Army uniform clashed with just about everything she had that wasn't also the same dull gray, narrowing down potential accessories to a dumb looking, but warm, mountaineer's hat, and a cold steel helmet. Particularly cold at the moment, as snow also tossed itself about. That same helmet had seen her through France and the first battle of Britain back in '40, while also requiring she ditch a trademark bun – a small price, in the eyes of many, for protection.

Ugly, dull, normal protection. The first three words Ramona hated, so naturally, any combination thereof – and certainly all three used together – was hated by default. Looking back, the stupid appearance of the Mountaineer's cap would have been tolerable, because the only people looking at her – if she heard the English right – had addressed her as a 'sauerkraut eater'. It was amusing, somewhat, but only because of how backwards they were. Of course, what could she expect when Yankee came to play?

When she was more naïve, she would have let her mind wander to trivial matters such as how the rest of the former 9th Mechanized Infantry was doing, and why Captain Gunther was so convinced they'd slept together. Naiveness had given way to experience, and she'd seen more than enough death caused by such a mistake. A common mistake, but a deadly one which she'd learned at others' expense – even those of her friends. It might explain the sergeant's mark on her arm, but it didn't make those things go away.

"Linton!"

The unnerved voice of a Darcsen assaultman drew her mind and attention away from combat. "We're down four men! They got the gun!"

This unsettled the scout, as she carefully peered over the bank she was hiding behind, revealing that the only thing between her and Yankee was a cobblestone road, a fence and a second embankment that they were hiding behind. Thank god they hadn't decided to pull out a tank or a halftrack, as, judging from the slight frame and scared appearance of the assaultman hiding beside her, the antitankman was dead as well.

A gray helmet did not blend in well with white and brown surroundings, as a round fired from the opposite bank nearly put a hole in the steel shell, and if it had hit a mere few centimeters right, it would have passed without a problem.

"You got ammunition, Edgar?"

The darcsen, having lost his helmet some time ago, nodded. "Yeah. Five clips I picked up off dead guys. They won't be using it."

Two sets of blue eyes looked over the bank, at a line of green-white helmets looking opposite. There were eight helmets, to their one and a head of purple. Not good odds to face, by any man's guessing.

"Is it worth it?"

The purple haired assaultman laid looking up and away from the battlefield. "I mean, and you're better at this soldiering thing than I am, but can we really hold out with five clips of assault rifle rounds?"

Ramona let herself think. "If you want to surrender, you can. Just leave your gun and your magazines here."

Edgar nodded. "Alright, miss. Sounds great to me." The gray metal of the StG-41 and the five bannana-shaped magazines hit the snow, followed by a swift grabbing of the munitions and the autorifle.

"Here goes..."

"Here they come!" Wade shouted, as a series of gunshots sounded from the American bank. The Reising the sergeant used, the five or so Johnsons, and the squad's LMG and BAR gunners all dumped a hailstorm of lead onto a darcsen who stood up to fire. In a handful of seconds, the purple-haired German dyed the snow before him red, and tumbled down the embankment, falling into the runoff trench beside the road.

"Hey! I got one!" a voice shouted.

Then a thought settled in. Wade stood up enough to look down into the trench, seeing a very distinct lack of a weapon in the soldier's hand. "Shit!"

"Shit what?"

"Shit, we killed someone trying to surrender."

The other seven helmets peered over the trench. No words were spoken, as a helmet on the other side was seen moving away.

"Can we go after the other one?"

Adam shook his head. "No. Let 'em go, let's just head to the waypoint."

The squad stood back up, looking around.

"Did I fucking stutter? Move out!"

The squad did so, walking alongside the embankment should another need to use it arise.

---End Chapter 44---


	45. Flash Forward

-Berlin, Germany, 10th June, 1946-

Much had happened over the past few years; friendships came and went, as did enemies. One thing remained static, though. Ever since Adler's child, one forceful reminder of her violator, was born in 1942, she was placed under the direct command of the Leader himself.

Alicia stared long and hard into the mirror before her, only able to reflect on what had happened, why Hitler couldn't see how badly the war was going, and how many of her friends and foes from the Gallian Militia days were dead. The reflection in the mirror was vastly different from what she would have seen back then, as where there once was a happy, idealistic brunette who wanted to be a baker, there was now a downbeat, cynical dyed-blond who wanted to just be left alone – or, better yet, forgotten to the continuing march of time.

So much had changed; and she did nothing, and couldn't do a thing anyway, to stop it.

"Miss Braun?" the calm, but stern voice of one of her SS-assigned guards called to her. "The Leader requests your presence in the war room."

Well, it was far better than the time he'd requested her presence in the bedroom. Almost like he got his Brauns mixed up – or so she could wish.

"I'll be there shortly," was the equally calm, but far less stern, reply she produced. Fortunately, the guard had only stopped to speak at the door; it saved her great embarrassment (something she was surprised she still felt) from having to get into a uniform in front of a male. If she where on better terms, perhaps she'd tolerate it, but normally she'd just pull a sheet or the common grayish green jacket over her then-uncovered self.

When she did finally step out of her room deep within the _Fuehrerbuenker_, she was greeted by the man in black who'd acted as messenger. In spite of the rivalry between the common army and the SS, she felt that man, who always greeted her with a slight smile, was probably the closest resemblance of a friend she had at current – yet she could not recall ever hearing his name.

The walk to the War Room – the place where Hitler often was briefed by his generals on how terribly the war was going – was silent, save for the click of heels against the floors. When the pair reached the requested room, they were, predictably, greeted by the scene of top Nazi leaders gathered around a table with a map in front of them. The black-haired man with a small mustache looked up at her.

"I am... glad you decided to come." Hitler motioned for her to take her place beside and slightly behind him. "But, as I believe I have reminded you many times, what do you say when you greet the Leader?"

With a sigh, she clicked her heels together, and extended her arm slowly into a Hitler salute. "H-Hail you...?"

The man who had requested the salute grunted, somewhat frustrated. "Well... close enough, Captain Braun." He again motioned for her to take the place of what was currently empty air behind and to the left of him.

While the talking between them commenced again, she paid it no mind, looking downward seemingly at the large maps of the Russian and American fronts. In reality, she had returned to her thoughts, able only to witness how her friends and her lovers died.

_-21st Infantry Division, Juno Beach, Normandy, France, June 6th, 1944-_

_What she'd heard of what occurred that day was simple: the utter destruction of the 21st Infantry, where many former Sevens had been gathered in the wake of the destruction of 17th Tanks and 11th Mechanized in Stalingrad. The survivors where put under Captain Eiffel's D-Company, part of the 30th regiment._

Peter Rothchild, one of many former Squad 7 members, could only look out of a cold concrete bunker, watching the waves of Canadian infantry in their landing boats ride towards him. Further in the distance, one could make out the silhouettes of various American-made warships, _Fletcher-_class destroyers and, in the far distance, the feared USS _Missouri_, an Iowa-class battleship that had destroyed the Empire's KMKS _Marmota_ when it took to the sea on its air cushion, and now rest bow-to-stern with the German _Tripitz._

The Higgins boats rode forward, close enough for him to consider opening up with the MG-42S, and possibly sink a few in a hailstorm of large caliber rounds. But that wasn't his order, as there wasn't actually any ensuring that the rounds would punch open the boat's front.

Then, the moment arrived to open up; the doors dropped on the first wave of boats, and he pulled the trigger. The loud report of the Theimer rounds firing off in quick succession was sure indication that troops were dying as much as the continuous splashes of red down below. Soon, the sand and sea where both red from the blood spilled by Canadian soldiers, but larger boats rolled up as well, revealing medium tanks within.

-Canadian POV-

The rattling of machine guns above and in front of him and his comrades caused Private Jack Campbell to panic. While the Rams now climbing up the beach did somewhat reassure him of survival, the .50 cals whizzing past him and cutting down other Canadian troops didn't. The M1 Garand – as copied from a scrapped American design – in his hand was the only thing he had that could possibly keep him alive, short of some fairly small Ragnaid capsules.

Right now, the biggest threat was some bloke with a bluish hat, certainly not the funny coal bucket the common Hun wore. He was behind what was called a MG-42H, a once-rare variant of Buzzsaw that had actually more-or-less replaced it in many roles.

Of course, Jack didn't care what fancy name the Huns called the weapons they used, since it could be called a "Flower girl" and still be cutting down men in uniforms like his. The thing he used for cover was a hedgehog, which as somewhat resistant to the rounds fired down on him. A quick glance over his "cover" showed that the gunner was occupied shooting elsewhere. While he felt sorry for the poor bastards taking fire, it did provide him with a good opportunity to take this guy out.

Lining up the capped man in his sight, Campbell pulled the trigger, and a splash of red, followed by the Hun jerking back as the gun fell limp was confirmed proof of a kill. He let himself relax a bit, and tried to figure out what next to do.

-7th Panzer Division, Northern Italy, 1943-

_While it was somewhat uncertain how exactly both Hans and Isara Beiber had fallen, Alicia could easily assume it involved one of the strange tube lances the Americans used, called a "Bazooka", which posed a grave threat to the existence of many a tank crewman._

Caught up in fighting, with an enemy in front of them, Hans Beiber kept his eye out of his tank's periscope. Long gone where the days of 'Sergeant Beiber, the tank commander' and here forever was 'Lieutenant Beiber, the Bengal Tiger platoon leader'. Beside him, looking down the sights of the powerful 105mm gun of the Model G Bengal was his wife.

It had come after a short internment in a Soviet camp, but the idea pleased both of them. While a slight age gap existed (as predictable with one half born in the mid-1920s and the later somewhat earlier), both of them willingly overlooked it – she was over the legal age anyway when he asked.

By now, they'd had a child, who currently resided in Gallia with Isara's former godmother. Hans had forgotten the woman's name, but was grateful all the same. At least, little Kai didn't have the prospect of seeing her parents destroyed in a column of shrapnel and fire.

His thoughts were broken when the tank rocked, taking an American 90mm round to the side, which meant a Slugger tank was nearby. Without needing to react, the turret began to rotate, and he could soon see a second round flying towards them.

-American POV-

Jeffery Wilson smirked upon seeing the enemy King Tiger explode into a shell of its former self, and took drag of his cigar. The M36 Gun Motor Carriage, affectionately called the Slugger by the Americans and the same name in fear by the Krauts, could fairly easily destroy even the heavier German machines, though a "Katie" could take 90s all day from the front and still not die. An Edy or a Panther could fall easily no matter how you hit it, though.

Slowly, the feared tank destroyer rolled forward again. Certainly, one felt invincible when you rolled in a machine that could destroy the Reich's most feared machines with comparable ease when you looked at a Sherman, which could only kill a Katie or an Edy by hitting the radiator on the back.

-Back in Berlin-

"...and that is why I'm sending Miss Braun."

Alicia came from her thoughts long enough to catch Hitler's conclusion.

"Uh, my Leader, the Valkyria hasn't seen combat since 1944. She's been behind the lines, here in Berlin for at least two years."

The Leader smirked. "She's also the main reason the United States hasn't dropped an atomic bomb on us like they did Japan. We could easily get her on a boat to Washington and have her raze it to dust."

She sighed, looking away in embarrassment. A red tinge came to her cheeks.

"And, most certainly, the United States has never encountered something as powerful as my mistress. Ah... generals, if I may speak with Miss Braun alone."

Collectively, the officers left, leaving Adolf and her alone. She felt uncomfortable.

"Have a seat, Alicia."

Hearing her name roll from his mouth was odd, but she did so, taking a seat by him.

"Would it surprise you to know, that I'm sending you to die?"

She slowly shook her head.

"Figures. How about, I regret the choice already?"

At this, the Valkyria stared, somewhat confused. "My Lea-"

"Adolf is fine."

Alicia sighed. "Ok... Adolf. Why do you regret sending me to the front."

With this, the Austrian dictator sighed. "Because. You're 26, a remarkably beautiful woman, and I'm treating you like a battery of rockets or a warship. You're a wreck – there is a reason I pulled you away from the front."

A blush came to her face. "Adolf..."

"To them, it looks like I order you to the front. But really, I order you this: When they do not look, I want you to surrender to the Americans."

She sighed upon hearing this strange order. Hitler was throwing away the only thing that could possibly win him the war. "My leader, Adolf, I cannot."

Hitler shrugged. "What is your reasoning?"

A sigh followed – she looked away, still blushing.

-END CHAPTER 45-

**Yeah, time jump. I had run dry for for ideas set in the middle of the war, but this idea came to me last night. Any ideas I have for the middle can always be told via look at a newspaper or a flashback**

**Please leave a review. No flaming, Mr. Wang, or I will bash back.**


	46. Wehrmacht

**SONGFIC CHAPTER AHEAD**

Alicia sighed lightly, left in her thoughts. She stared blankly at the wall opposite her, able only to think of the people she'd known, seen die, killed herself, and simply let herself think about what had happened to that young idealistic backer in 1939 to turn her into the Supersoldier many looked to, wanting her to keep Germany safe.

She closed her eyes to think.

-Late 1939-

She looked out at the men stationed at the base in Munich, smiling lightly. Many happy faces greeted her own gaze.

_**Pulled into war to serve a vision that's supposed to last a thousand years**_

-1940-

Her mind wandered to the beginning of France, firing rounds at the French soldiers defending their homeland.

_**Part of a machine unstoppable; as merciless as tidal waves**_

The Fall of Paris; she held the blood red flag of Nazi Germany high, and oddly proud, with a half-proud, half-glad smile on her face, knowing that the war was over for now.

_**Were they victims of the time, or proud parts of larger goals?**_

_**Propaganda of the Reich, masterful machines.**_

-1941-

The bitter wasteland before them was as uninviting as it was hostile; they had crossed the boarder with Russia a long while before, and now were taking fire. Men from other companies, and a few from her own, met terrible fates.

_**Time and again, the battle rages beyond the gates of misery**_

Freezing in the Russian winter, heartbroken as the push for Moscow continued. The young man beside her, who she didn't know at all, had frozen to death, the snow beside him dyed white.

_**As casualties rise, and millions die around them, did they see it all?**_

-1942-

The uniforms of her comrades-in-arms cast in a blue light; undoubtedly from her, made the Americans before her tremble. She would hold Italy, alone or with aid from those men.

_**Crazy madmen on a leash, or young men who lost their way?**_

_**Grand illusions of the Reich may seem real at times**_

Yes, she would hold this. Her face was of pure determination.

-1943-

A line of Edelweisses passed her, with King Tigers flanking. Isara could be seen in one of them.

_**PANZERS ON A LINE! FORM THE WEHRMACHT'S SPINE!**_

_**LETHAL GRAND DESIGN!**_

_**What about the men executing orders?**_

The Darcsen woman waved jovially, happy to see a familiar face.

_**PANZERS ON A LINE! FORM THE WEHRMACHT'S SPINE!**_

_**LETHAL GRAND DESIGN!**_

_**What about the men executing orders?**_

A sudden shift brought her to Isara's exploding tank, condemning her to a sure, fiery death.

-1944-

"...I want to forget. Everything. My past life is a string of horrific events. Adler, Welkin, all of it." She looked over at the SS officer, a Darcsen of all people, the despaired look on her face confirming her words. "The bad that's happened... outweighs the good."

"How do you intend to do that?"

"I will dye my hair – I'll change my name."

"But, the Leader shall never have it. 'Alicia' is forever associated with his Valkyria."

"But 'Melchiott' is not."

-1945-

The Allies had come to far. Now, she would show them their error in joining the Soviets in their fight against Germany. Fear was clear in their eyes – an emotion which now fed her.

**Ad victoriam**

**Ex machina**

An unhealthy smirk came to Alicia's face.

**Non sibi sed patriae**

-1946-

Now she stood face to face with the same forces she terrorized before, following her leader's word, with a modification attached to it. The entire High Command had given her one final order.

**Ad victoriam**

**Ex machina**

The same smirk reappeared. This war would end today.

**Non sibi sed patriae**

The entire "Bulge" was consumed in blue fire.

-Russian Front-

Juno groaned in pain, and looked at the men who'd violated her in the aftermath of a humiliating surrender.

_**Pulled into war to serve a vision that just didn't last a thousand years.**_

She looked at them, silently pleading for mercy. They didn't grant it.

_**Part of a machine, though stoppable, as merciless as tidal waves.**_

Ted and Nancy tossed way ward looks at one another. They were loaded with other prisoners taken by the Soviets, to a horrendous reeducation.

_**Crazed madmen on a leash, or young men who lost their way?**_

-France-

Adler sighed, disheartened. News of the explosion reached him quickly, and he considered it a waste that Alicia destroyed herself like that. Though, there would probably be many others waiting in America.

_**Grand illusions of the Reich may seem real at times**_

_**PANZERS ON A LINE FORM THE WEHRMACHT'S SPINE**_

_**LETHAL GRAND DESIGN**_

Men and women Alicia once knew – Claudia, Noce, Catherine, Karl, Lynn, Largo, and countless others – all forever claimed in a war of aggression. Their gravestones lined what was once their base in Randgriz.

_**What about the men executing orders?**_

Varrot standing trial for war crimes, many of which she did not commit.

_**PANZERS ON A LINE FORM THE WEHRMACHT'S SPINE**_

_**LETHAL GRAND DESIGN**_

A large, fat bomb falling on Berlin, dropped from a B-29.

_**What about the men...?**_

The payload detonated. In a flash, the Reich ceased to exist.

The war had ended. She'd ended it. If there was one promise Alicia could say she'd kept to herself, it was being the force that ended World War II.

-Paris, France, July 21st, 1952-

Bruno set the book, labeled "Valkyria of the Battlefield: The Journal of Hitler's Ultimate Soldier," back on the desk. It was an interesting read, and told a story none had heard. The Darcsen critic thought about it, and nodded. He returned to his typewriter, and concluded his review of it.

_Certainly one for the military enthusiast, with some romance present. "Valkyria of the Battlefield" will provide a good read, and insight into the Second World War from the other side, from the Invasion of France to the grand Final Flame that marked the fall of the German Reich. If she wasn't claimed in the same events that ended the book, I would certainly have wished to see more from Miss Melchiott, an otherwise forgotten soldier who changed how many think of modern war._

-THE END-

**The song that I end BFGallia with is called _"Wehrmacht"_, by a Swedish band called Sabaton.**

**Please leave one last review.**


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